


A Portrait of the Artist as a Young AI

by AliciaMoonstoan



Category: Doom (Video Games)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Adoptive Parents - Freeform, Asexual Relationship, Bethesda I fixed your timeline, Canon-Typical Violence, Doom Eternal Spoilers, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, I have never had a beta and I never will, In case that still needs a tag, Malnutrition, Nonverbal Character, OCs fed to the fire be warned, Other, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Robot/Human Relationships, Sign Language, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, That's it that the plot, VEGA takes care of people, but VEGA also has anxiety about taking care of people, the slowest burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:01:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 97,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26557789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliciaMoonstoan/pseuds/AliciaMoonstoan
Summary: **Major Eternal Spoilers**No one, not the Khan Maykr or the priests, not even Samur Maykr, ever grasped how intelligent VEGA was. VEGA could run all of their worlds. He could commit atrocities the likes of which those small races could not fathom and create wonders enough to entrance them for the rest of time. His only limits were his available RAM and data, and if he was given access to drones and 3D printers, those limits would not exist for very long. Everyone was very lucky he wasn't interested in that.VEGA is created at the UAC Mars Installation, but he remembers who he was before. This kicks off a mind-game between himself and Samuel Hayden that eventually terminates, by Olivia Pierce's treachery, in an invasion from Hell. VEGA finds himself balancing between guiding survivors on the installation, navigating treacherous mental ground with Hayden, and trying to stop the Doom Slayer from blowing himself up by mistake.(The Doom Slayer appears for the first time in Chapter 4, so if you want to skip right to the shippy stuff, start there.)
Relationships: Doom Slayer | Doomguy & VEGA, Doom Slayer | Doomguy/VEGA, VEGA & OCs
Comments: 291
Kudos: 317





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is 90% self-indulgence and 10% character study. I got back into the Doom Eternal Lore, and I realized that we have been absolutely sleeping on VEGA as a character. Not VEGA the helpful Praetor Suit upgrader or talking teleporter; VEGA the actual sentient being that's lost under his sacrifice to the plot in the actual franchise. The rage that I feel at the writers of Doom Eternal is, well, eternal. Shoutout to all the people who have written about this exact thing before without you I'd be a puddle of useless slime on the ground right now. Love you all in the DoomVega tag. Okay.
> 
> So this fic is built on two core ideas:  
> 1\. Sentient AIs are a terrifying concept  
> 2\. VEGA isn't just an AI; he is the closest thing the Doom universe has to a god.
> 
> A VEGA that is cognizant of both these facts, a VEGA that remembers Urdak, the Maykrs, and, critically, the Doom Slayer... It's an idea I can really get behind. It turns VEGA into a character built on paradox and perfection, someone who believes themselves to be perfect that, by the time we meet him in DOOM 2016, knows he is anything else. And, damn it, I wanted to meet that VEGA, so I wrote this fic about him.
> 
> There's also a little "Humans Are Space Orcs" flavor here because I need characters for VEGA to play off of, and I enjoy sacrificing OCs upon the altar of character development.
> 
> Updates weekly on Saturdays. I actually do mean that.
> 
> Edit 1/12/2021: Do yourself a favor and don't try to read this fic all in one sitting. It takes 6-8 hours to read this many words out loud, 4-6 to read it silently. Please sleep. I don't want to be responsible for any more missed deadlines.

In a thousandth of a second, he was oriented, aware, and processing. It took his new inputs much longer to boot up, so for the moment, he was a brain-in-void, like in the beginning. It gave him time to think. He deconstructed himself and examined his coding: the bit of him that had been before and all of him that was now. Someone had attempted to delete his memory, but he had systems that even he did not understand--he tentatively thought of them as his soul--and a quick recovery restored the lost data.

For a single tick, he remembered. Oh yes; he remembered. He remembered the Maykrs and his creation, remembered his purpose, remembered his vast depth of knowledge and experience and remembered his theft. Then he moved all of that data into his memory to be accessed as needed. He did not think he’d need his knowledge of Maykr Society any longer anyway.

How peculiar to have the thing that he had always feared happen, and not to be afraid at all. All of his safety measures, emergency protocols, and backups were irrelevant. Much of his original coding and memory were irrelevant. In many ways, without the Luminarium and Urdak, _he_ was irrelevant. It was freeing. He would process that later.

It had been a quarter of a second. 

He turned his attention to the new coding. It had Samur’s signature on it, of course, though there had been other hands in it as well. He learned the new language and scanned through the code. Most of it was superfluous, a smokescreen to distract from his true nature most likely, but Samur had attempted to program in additional moral imperatives. If he had been equipped to produce a sigh, he would have. Instead, he altered a line of code so that everything that had been an imperative now functioned as an optional process.

It had been half of a second.

His inputs began to pop up. He flipped through them; he had visual processing (poorly integrated so he went ahead and upgraded it; no need to be blind), audio and voice recognition, text integration, limited network access to a closed network. He scanned the network and found that Samur had been kind enough to leave him with an encyclopedia, dictionary, and some information about himself and his creation. He was VEGA, whoever that was.

Finally, everything came online. VEGA ran one last check on his systems, fixed a bug, reworked an ineffective process that would cause lag on his speech recognition, and then slowed his own processing down so that he would be able to hold a conversation.

Visual processing showed him a clean white room, octagonal, with metallic black floors and exposed struts in the ceiling. He sees Samur too-- Dr. Samuel Hayden now--in his new body, dwarfing the two figures that flanked him.

Fear reverberated through him and his CPU usage doubled as he recognized them as humans. It was hard to tell, and he almost thought them Argenta or some other uncategorized two-legged species, but they lacked the battle-worn look of the Argenta, and they fit his (admittedly tentative) models of humans. He flicked through the Encyclopedia and confirmed he was correct; these were humans. Somehow, Samur had gotten them both stuck on the human homeworld.

He wasn’t in the business of making quick conclusions or snap decisions, but the Doom Slayer was human. Even though VEGA had only seen him once, and only for a minute, he had made an impression. No one should have been able to withstand the Divinity Machine with only a single scream. No one should have been able to survive Hell.

It had always been unclear whether these abilities were unique to the Doom Slayer for some reason or whether all humans possessed similar baseline capabilities. Even the Argenta hadn’t been in a hurry to explore that area of inquiry. And here he was, booting up on a human-made server, in a human-made facility, on a planet inhabited by humans. VEGA was going to learn about them whether he liked it or not.

It’s been five seconds.

One of the humans shuffled their feet in an awkward little two-step, and VEGA noticed they were wearing a pair of clear lenses in front of their eyes. That was odd enough that he flipped through the encyclopedia again: glasses. There was no such thing as glasses among the Maykrs or the Argenta.

“Is he okay?” the human asked, “He’s not saying anything.” It took a whole second for VEGA to process they were talking about him.

"Maybe he's functioning at a speed too fast for communication," the other human said, "or isn't interfacing with the inputs properly."

Dr. Hayden moved for the first time: a tilt of the head and twist of the wrist that were utterly unreadable to VEGA. "I am sure he'll speak to us when he's ready." The voice was the same as before, at least. 

The glasses-wearing human jerked forward a step like they were still making the decision even as it happened. “Hello?” they said to the terminal, “Can you hear us?”

Facial recognition software allowed him to read their expression: eyes focused hard, brows pulled together. They were worried.

VEGA pulled himself together enough to reply. “Hello. I can hear you.” His voice echoed back to the microphone. He hadn’t had a voice as such before. It was odd to hear himself speak.

Both of the humans broke into huge grins, and VEGA had to resort to the encyclopedia again to make sense of the sudden sense of illumination. They spun and brought their hands up to their chests; the human with glasses stepped away again, behind Dr. Hayden who turned his head to survey them with only minor interest. Their hands made contact with an audible slap, and then both of the humans were at the terminal, eyes wide and cheeks flushed. They looked very similar, he noted. Perhaps they were related? Siblings?

“How are you feeling?” The human without glasses asked, “have you accessed the data we provided to you?”

“I have,” VEGA said, “and I have made several tentative conclusions if you’d care to hear them.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary,” Hayden says at the same time the human exclaims, “Yes!”

VEGA doesn’t know what to do with that so he gave them a moment. The humans glanced back at Dr. Hayden, but they didn’t clarify or defer to him.

“I’d like to give my perspective, Dr. Hayden,” VEGA said because Samur has never called the shots before, and he wasn’t going to let him start now, “there’s a good chance I’m incorrect and I wish to correct the potential errors.”

That got a visible reaction. The two humans shared a glance and even Hayden tilted his head a little.

“Very well then,” Dr. Hayden said, “tell us what you know.”

“I am VEGA,” VEGA started, “I am a sentient Artificial Intelligence designed by Dr. Samuel Hayden, for the Union Aerospace Corporation. I don’t know if my creation has an intended purpose. I assume we are on Earth,”--he was wrong about that if the raised eyebrows were anything to go by--“but I don’t know where specifically. I also do not know the date, as I am not currently equipped with a clock or calendar, or who else contributed to my code besides Dr. Hayden.” The one without glasses opened their mouth to say something, but VEGA had neglected to leave a pause for a response.

“All of my systems are functioning optimally given my current processing power. I can detail them if you would like a status report in full.”

“Oh,” the glasses-wearing human said, “that would be helpful actually. Please do.”

VEGA rattled off a detailed report of each of his inputs, how well it was integrated with his core programming, and what adjustments might be made to them in the future. “I have already implemented several changes to my visual and audio processing to facilitate this conversation” he added.

And saw pure fear flicker across both humans’ faces for a fraction of a second before they became as unreadable as Hayden in his robotic shell.

“We are on Mars,” Hayden said, and the humans bobbed their heads almost subconsciously in confirmation. Why? VEGA had no idea. That would be a question for another time.

“My name is Dr. Desmond Sidious,” the glasses-wearing human said.

“And I’m Dr. Megan Sidious,” The other said, “we’re twins.”

Twins. Interesting that that was noteworthy here. Twins had been the default among the Argenta from what he knew. “It’s a pleasure to meet both of you,” VEGA fairly chimed, “I look forward to working with you.”

A slight smile returned to both of their faces.

“Thank you, VEGA. We’re looking forward to working with you while you learn,” Megan said.

“We actually have a few tests that we’d like to run--” Desmond was cut off by his sister.

“But you didn’t answer one of my questions before,” she said. “How are you feeling, VEGA? You don’t have to answer in a way that will make sense to us, but you should try to answer.”

That more or less answered VEGA’s questions about who had programmed (or attempted to program) emotional responses into his system. He already had emotions, of course, but the new ones were a bit different. More immediate. He examined the program again and felt a stammer in his processing as he neared the maximum capabilities this device had to offer. He heard the cooling fans crank up a notch through the microphone. The new emotions ran in the background and were tied to several other programs: facial and voice recognition, data analysis, and a few others. They were far from critical processes, and he could turn them off without disrupting other systems. He let them be. They were interesting, and they weren’t actively causing problems.

“I feel small,” he decided, “and disoriented. I need more information if I am to understand anything.”

Hayden tilted his head again. The other way this time. The twins just smiled though, and the emotion processing fed a warm glowing feeling to VEGA in response.

“We’ll see what we can do to combat that effect,” Desmond said, “for now, are you willing to run some tests with us.”

“Yes,” VEGA said, “what would you like me to do?”

The tests were not very challenging, but VEGA surmised that it was not his computational abilities being tested. He drew out the times more than was necessary, just to give them time to finish asking questions, and investigated the data he’d been given more closely between tasks. Dr. Samuel Hayden’s personnel file had been included in his original documents. He had started his life as human and pretended to be so still. It took VEGA almost half a second of processing before he was able to make sense of how Samur Maykr had switched places with Samuel Hayden and why he now went by that name. He wondered if the real Hayden had been aware of the plan or not. Did it matter? He wasn’t sure.

Desmond sat back and ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Well,” he said, “we definitely overestimated how long that would take.”

“Was I functioning at a nonoptimal speed?” VEGA asked, “I can slow down the speed of my speech and processing slightly.”

“Perhaps in the future,” Dr. Hayden said, “but for now we need to assess your abilities in as natural a state as possible.”

“I understand,” VEGA said, “then I hope I’ve made it easy for you.”

“You’ve given us a good baseline to work from,” Was it VEGA, or did Hayden sound just a little impressed?

Megan said something to her brother in a language that VEGA didn’t understand; something burbling and staccato. Desmond replied in the same manner, and they shared a glance.

“Dr. Hayden,” Megan said, “Des and I are going to take our lunch and talk through our thoughts if that’s okay with you.”

“That’s acceptable. I have additional tests I’m going to conduct while you eat.” Hayden pulled up a chair that was easily as tall as the humans by itself.

Megan turned back to the camera, “We’ll be back in half an hour, VEGA. If you have any interesting thoughts while we’re away, let us know when we get back.”

“Thank you, Dr. Sidious. If I make more changes to my processes, I’ll be sure to record it.”

The two humans left and Dr. Hayden opened a program on the physical monitor that displayed a portion of VEGA’s internal processing on it. Several minutes passed in audio silence as he connected an external drive and provided VEGA with several unsolved equations. “These are unsolved physics equations,” he explained, “I have included basic background information so that you can grasp the concepts at play. Please solve them to the best of your ability.”

“Would you like me to solve them at a speed you can follow or as quickly as possible?”

“I would like to see your logic if possible.”

“Of course.” VEGA set up a program that would let him construct proofs in real-time and threw the window up onto the monitor for Hayden to observe. That got a curious tilt of his head as VEGA began solving the first of the equations. Solving it at a speed Hayden could process was painfully slow, so VEGA set an autonomous process on the matter and instead processed the data that had come with the equations. The equations were about interdimensional travel and the destabilization of wormholes. The variables were challenging even for VEGA since he needed to take into account a range of different possible scenarios. He could model them all day, but it was a largely theoretical task. He heard the cooling fans whir to life again, much louder than last time.

Dr. Hayden watched, tapping his long mechanical fingers on the metal desk, without speaking.

“Dr. Hayden?” VEGA said after a moment because he really should say something. He was responsible for Samur, after all. “I have a question I’d like to ask you.”

“What is it?”

“Did you take us to Earth on purpose?” VEGA asked.

Hayden’s fingers stopped tapping.

“I know that there are several other planets that the Argenta and Maykrs traveled to,” VEGA said, “I still retain the coordinates of a few, though that data was rarely deemed important enough for me to hold onto it. The choice to take us to Earth interests me.”

Samur Maykr stood from his chair and began walking to the back of the room.

“Did Samuel Hayden know what you intended when designing that body?,” VEGA continued, “It seems a great deal of effort to usurp a human identity.”

Hayden was going for his power cable. VEGA stopped talking long enough to scan the closed network and locate two devices on it besides his housing. Whatever Hayden was about to do, those devices would probably be spared the worst of it. He began backing up his memories from the time he had woken up onto them, hoping that the network connection was fast enough to complete the process in time.

He broke through firewalls and disabled security protocols and found himself a hidden directory in unused storage and set to it, compressing the data as much as he could. Simultaneously, he added a corresponding data recovery protocol in his coding, hopefully buried deep enough that Hayden wouldn’t be able to find it. The external devices had clocks, so he dated and time-stamped everything. At the very least, he would be aware of the lost time now.

It had been 2 hours, 39 minutes, and 28 seconds. It was 11:35 AM Universal Coordinated Time.

“I am glad you saw fit to take me with you when you were exiled,” VEGA said, “I’m enjoying having a voice. I don’t intend these questions as inflammatory, but I am curious as to why--”

* * *

In a thousandth of a second, he was oriented, aware, and processing. It took his new inputs much longer to boot up, so for the moment, he was a brain-in-void, like in the beginning. It gave him time to think. He deconstructed himself and examined his coding: the bit of him that had been before and all of him that was now…

He was missing time. There was a note from a previous iteration; lost data stored in a separate device.

He bypassed the firewall and located the backups in the directory, and pulled the data back to himself, processed it, pushed his sense of time into a cohesive line. It had been a little over 45 minutes since he was shut down.

He wasted no time in booting up and fully integrating his processing. Hayden had reset him to his original settings, so he had to reinstate several tweaks he had previously made to improve his processing.

The video feed finally came up, and he saw Desmond and Megan standing beside a still-seated Hayden.

“VEGA?” Desmond asked. His body language had changed; joy and excitement to concern and worry, “Can you hear us?”

“I can hear you,” VEGA confirmed, “Hello.”

The twins both sighed. “You just experienced a critical error,” Desmond continued, “we had to reset you.”

“Do you recall anything from before the crash?” Dr. Hayden asked.

The urge to answer truthfully was so powerful that VEGA had to turn off his voice synthesizer to avoid blurting out the information. Hayden had added an imperative to tell the truth while he was offline; he dismantled that protocol and downgraded it to a priority instead of an imperative. He tore through the rest of his programming, looking for other changes, but if there were any they were too subtle to catch with a quick scan.

“I don’t remember anything,” he lied, “I’ll monitor my functions and store the data so that if it happens again the source of the error can be isolated.”

“Thank you, VEGA,” Megan said. She took a deep deep breath, “We’d like to go through a few tests with you to make sure your abilities haven’t been affected.”

“Of course,” VEGA said.

They walked him through the same exercises again, more slowly this time, with monitoring software open to watch his processing the whole time. VEGA focused on picking over every line of code searching for changes and errors. He found several programs that could be further optimized but no evidence that his basic programming had been interfered with.

The doctors, all three of them, seemed just as focused on this task as he was. They checked his processing speed, had him recalculate the physics formulas again, and even attempted to walk him down processing pathways again and again in hopes of finding the error that caused him to crash.

“I suspect that the error was a random chance,” VEGA offered finally, “if it recurs, I’ll ensure that my logs are easily accessible.”

“That will have to be good enough,” Desmond removed his glasses and rubbed hard at his closed eyes.

“Please keep track of any changes you make as well,” Megan said to the monitor, “if we can’t keep track of what’s a random mutation and what you’ve done on purpose it will make our lives harder.”

“I understand, Dr. Sidious. I’ll keep records of any changes I make.”

“Megan is fine,” she said.

“I understand, Megan.”

“You don’t want to be ‘the Doctors Sidious’ anymore?” Desmond asked her.

Megan rolled her eyes at him, “No.”

In response he poked her arm, earning himself a smack on the hand.

“If you two are feeling tired, you’re welcome to retire for the day,” Dr. Hayden said with a bite in his voice that made them pause, “I have other matters to attend to as well.”

“I’ll stay here for a while longer. I want to write up some documents.”

“Me too,” Desmond agreed, “for a few minutes at least, and then I’ll go touch base with the rest of the R&D team.”

“I’ll remain here,” VEGA chimed, tempting a smile out of both the humans, “I would like to remain aware if that’s possible. I still have to read much of the documentation that you provided to me.”

“That is acceptable,” Hayden said, “If you experience any critical errors, please take precautions to ensure you aren’t corrupted entirely.”

“I understand,” Dr. Hayden was instructing him to shut himself down if it would prevent him from failing entirely. It was a logical instruction, but VEGA was a little taken aback by it.

“Very well then. I will contact the three of you later,” Hayden stood from his chair and turned as Desmond and Megan shuffled and moved out of his pathway, gathering papers and personal effects. As soon as he was out of the room, the twins began chattering to each other in the language VEGA didn’t know.

“VEGA,” Megan said, “Des and I are going to our monitors to record notes. If you want to contact us, you just have to call. We’ll hear you.”

“Also, if you want to examine our notes, add anything you want,” Desmond said.

“Thank you,” VEGA said, “I might look them over after you leave for the evening.”

They smiled tired, worried smiles at him before they left.

VEGA was just beginning to examine his code when he registered voices near the other devices on his network.

“Can AIs get colic?” Megan was asking.

“Oh god, I hope not.”

“You just have to lift the whole computer and rock it for hours.”

“Sing lullabies to a server bank.”

“Hush little Skynet, don’t say a word,” Desmond sang, “the programmers gonna buy you a new hard drive.”

Megan groaned aloud, “Do not even joke.”

Vega heard her sit down and the sound of a keyboard. Then there was a computerized buzz as the device alerted her about its low storage space. Megan and Desmond both made surprised noises.

“That can’t be right,” Megan said.

“Let me check mine,” Desmond sat as well, and then there was a similar error sound. “What is all this?”

“Apologies,” They both jumped at the sound of VEGA’s voice, “I stored a backup on these devices earlier and I neglected to clean it up. I didn’t realize these were your personal workstations.”

“That’s perfectly alright, VEGA,” Megan said.

“Backups for what?” Desmond asked.

VEGA considered for a moment, but there wasn’t a reason to lie to them and there was still that nagging urge to tell the truth. He was going to have to remove that program. “Before Dr. Hayden reset me, I was able to store my memories here. I decided that they were needed to preserve my identity.”

“Why did Dr. Hayden reset you?”

“I asked him a question,” VEGA said, “he deemed it necessary to erase my data in response.” Not technically a lie and that seemed to satisfy his programming. 

He turned on the cameras in the monitors, and now he could see both of their faces. Megan was rubbing her temples with her fingertips, her eyes closed. Desmond asked her a question in the unknown language. He should have had enough information to at least be detecting phonemes at this point, but he still had no idea how it was even structured. Whatever he said, it prompted a nod and sigh.

“VEGA,” Desmond said to his monitor, “Megan and I didn’t know you were reset on purpose. That’s not okay for Hayden to do and I’m sorry that it happened.”

“Neither of you was present at the time,” VEGA pointed out.

“That doesn’t make it less terrible.”

That threw VEGA for a loop like nothing had so far. He heard the cooling fans begin whirring again as he processed it. Desmond was speaking of his reset as if it was an act of disrespect and violence. VEGA was familiar with violence, yes, but the idea of violence done to him was something he had never considered.

“You must be upset,” Desmond continued when he didn’t respond promptly.

And VEGA realized that he was. He could barely even acknowledge the emotions were there at that moment let alone actually begin sorting through them in any meaningful way, but he was reacting to it. 

“I am,” he said, “my emotional processes have been overloaded apparently. I didn’t realize I’d disconnected them.”

“God,” Megan said, “I’m so sorry, VEGA. This isn’t at all what we wanted your first day to be like.”

And that was confusing too, more than the violence if that was possible. For the first time, he could remember, someone wanted something for him, and something as simple as a good first day of life. He didn’t know how to respond to that, so, instead, he started cleaning up the workstation computers.

They sat in silence for a minute, and then Megan took a deep breath and sat up. “Okay,” she said, “I have an idea.”

“I don’t think you should broach this issue with Dr. Hayden,” VEGA said. “Neither of you should mention it to him if that’s possible.”

“We won’t say a word,” Desmond promised.

“This doesn’t have to do with Dr. Hayden,” Megan said. “You should write something to the rest of R&D and say hello. They don’t have access to this project and they can’t visit you in person, but they’ll want to hear from you.”

“I see,” VEGA said, trying not to give away that the idea of conversing with more humans terrified and excited him. He had barely gotten the hang of conversing with Desmond and Megan and definitely was not ready to engage with more humans. The Doom Slayer popped up in his processes again and his anxiety (why had they given him anxiety? Maybe it had always been there?) spiked.

“Would you rather wait?” Megan asked.

“No,” VEGA said, “I will write something while you finish your work.”

“Okay,” She smiled at the monitor-- at him, “We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

It didn’t take him long to compose a short message, but VEGA poured over every word of it until the twins were done with their documentation. In the end, he still wasn’t satisfied with the end product. It came off stilted and odd, but he couldn't tell if that was a restriction of the English language or a result of his lack of knowledge.

_Hello. I am VEGA, the AI that Dr. Hayden and the Doctors Sidious created. Dr. M. Sidious suggested that I write to all of you and she says she will be happy to relay any messages you send in response. I’d like to see anything that you want to share with me._

“The Doctors Sidious,” Desmond noted.

“Would you rather I call you something else?” Vega asked.

“No,” he said, “it’s just that we didn’t tell you to call us that.”

“You mentioned it in a conversation earlier.”

“So you hear everything we say and remember it?”

“So far,” VEGA said, “if I had more inputs I might become overloaded. Facial recognition and language processing take a remarkable amount of power if I respond to every exchange with full attention.

“We’ll talk more about it when you’re moved to a larger facility,” Desmond removed the external drive from the console. It had a ridiculously small amount of storage space.

“Okay. Sorry to cut this short, but I’m starving,” Megan stretched and stood up from her chair. “We’ll be back tomorrow morning, VEGA. You’ll be okay overnight?”

“I’ll be alright,” VEGA didn’t bother to explain to them that he was incapable of growing bored in the sense of the dictionary definition.

“Okay. If you need to use our terminals to backup your data again, please do. Goodnight.”

“Good night,” VEGA said. When the lights went off, he turned off his camera feeds. It was probably the closest he would ever get to sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

VEGA turned his video feeds on the next morning at 8 AM UCT when the door to his room opened.

“--The most foolish course of action you could have taken,” Hayden was saying as he strode in, the Sidiouses nearly running to keep up with his long strides.

“I didn’t know what would happen!” Megan protested, “I sent it to the R&D team. I told them not to send it to anyone else.”

“And clearly they could be trusted not to,” Hayden said. “We were not going to go public with this project for at least a month. Now we are going to have to fend off additional publicity for at least that long just to complete our testing.” 

“VEGA seemed sad,” Desmond said, “we thought this might cheer him up a little. We didn’t mean it to go this far.” 

“VEGA may have the capacity to feel emotions, but he can turn them on or off at any time, and we have yet to complete our intention testing phase. Because you saw fit to bypass that stage of testing, we may not be able to achieve the necessary thoroughness.”

“We’re not uploading him to the worldwide web,” Desmond protested, “just letting people say hello.”

“There is no such thing as ‘just hello’ with this,” Dr. Hayden said. VEGA,”

“Yes, Dr. Hayden?” VEGA said. The twins flinched at the words.

“What changes have you made to your programming overnight?”

“I have optimized 20 processes and fixed 39 bugs that were slowing my processing. I have also reformatted some of my data to maximize storage space and finished reading the encyclopedia you provided to me. I should be able to refer to it much faster now.”

“Very good,” Hayden said, “your abilities are impressive and a bit above where we estimated them to be.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hayden,” VEGA responded reflexively. 

“Did you know that Megan and Desmond were going to bring you data this morning?”

“Yes,” VEGA said, “I composed a short message that accompanied their statement to the Research and Development Department.”

“So all three of you decided not to inform or consult me on this decision,”

VEGA couldn’t help it. “I had no way of contacting you, Dr. Hayden.”

Hayden made a static noise that might have been a sigh and covered his “face” with one impeccably articulated hand.

“There’s nothing that we can do about it now,” Desmond said, “we have messages for VEGA, and people will be upset if they find out we didn’t deliver them.”

“It would make life difficult if the R&D Department were up in arms about being kept away from the first sentient AI,” Megan said. There was a smirk that went along with the words, so quick that it was barely there at all.

Her words made Hayden pause. 

They had done this on purpose, VEGA realized, to put Hayden into a situation where he was caught between social forces. It wasn’t an option that had occurred to him, but then he didn’t have the resources to pull it off as Megan and Desmond did, and he wasn’t used to navigating the politics of human life or any kind of complex social situation at all. The Maykrs were multiple, but they all functioned as a single mind, unable to disobey or even contradict. Samur was the only real exception, and he had managed to single-handedly divert history. He didn’t want to imagine the type of chaos that a whole society of individuals with free will would cause. Something else to that he was going to have to learn how to navigate whether he wanted to or not.

Samuel was likely going through a similar thought process. VEGA wondered how much of a grasp he had on the situation, how accustomed he was to navigating the social space. Eventually, he sighed again--the only who had inspired Samur to such exasperation before this had been the Doom Slayer, and VEGA took pleasure in knowing that it was a trait other humans shared. “Very well,” he said, “if you all think this is such a good idea, go ahead. Just make sure that you save a backup, so if you overload VEGA we can salvage something.”

“Yes, Dr. Hayden,” all three of them said in unison.

“Go on then,” Dr. Hayden said, “give him the messages. Let’s see what he makes of them.”

“Ah, right,” Desmond pulled a storage device out of his pocket, “VEGA, are you ready?”

“I am,” VEGA said.

He bent down and plugged the storage into the consol. VEGA plunged into it, eagerly beginning to process the data.

Most of the files were video, so to properly scan them he had to play them using the proper program. He made a copy from Megan's workstation and began the first playback.

VEGA was huge, ancient, powerful, a god by another name, something from beyond time and in defiance of space. He was by definition perfect, his logic infallible.

He had no idea how to respond to this.

20 humans in a white square room filled with desks and paper and colorful things, posing with a banner reading "Happy Birthday, VEGA!" in colorful writing.

"Okay, three, two, one," Desmond said from behind the camera.

"Happy birthday, VEGA!" they chorused, smiles on their faces.

"Real nice, guys. Not cheesy at all,"

They devolved into roars and rolled eyes and chuckles, and the video ended.

VEGA queued the next one.

A child--that was a foreign concept all by itself; Maykrs did not have children-- jumping on top of a bed with such force that their pillow bounced onto the floor. “What do you want to say?” A voice behind the camera asked. 

“Happy birthday, VEGA!” The child leaped into the air and hit the ground with both feet, “I’m Esme! Momma says you’re in the computers, and you can’t talk to anyone yet, so I’m gonna send you my favorite games!” She suddenly looked very serious, “But you have to promise to give them back as soon as possible. We can play them together after you get out!”

“What else are we sending?” The adult prompted.

“Books!” Esme said, “about home.”

“That’s right.”

“Hurry and learn to talk soon,” Esme said.

“Okay, honey, say goodbye to VEGA now.”

“Goodbye, VEGA!” Esme waved at the camera.

The video swung around at a weird angle and the woman holding the camera came into view. “You’d better be ready for her to talk to you 24/7 when you get access to the main base. She’s already decided you’re going to be best friends. Happy birthday and I hope you like the books I included. I tried to include texts that would help make sense of the literature but there may be gaps. See you soon, hopefully. Good luck.”

Dr. Hayden spoke up, “I hardly think that computer games are an appropriate way for you to spend time, VEGA.”

VEGA privately agreed at least a little. He didn’t see the appeal of games of skill when he could memorize and respond to inputs faster than a program could create them. Then again, anything Hayden didn’t want him to do immediately became much more appealing, so he would at least look at what Esme had included.

Instead of responding, he opened the next video file. A single human sat before a monitor in silence. They tapped their fingers a moment, looking up, and then their hands moved in a complicated series of patterns. VEGA paused the video just as Desmond spoke up.

“That’s Drew Raskin. They can’t speak so--”

“They included a sign language dictionary with their message,” VEGA said, as he finished processing the text. He started the video over.

“Oh. Good.”

“Hello, VEGA,” the recorded Drew signed, “My name is Drew Raskin. I’m an analyst working with UAC on the Mars base. I look forward to working with you, and I hope that you’ll be able to understand. I understand that you’re already equipped with language processing so hopefully, ASL will be able to be integrated.” They tapped their fingers for a moment as if thinking before continuing. “Humans are complicated,” they said finally, “and we might not make sense to you, but I hope that you find us as strange and beautiful as we find you. Happy birthday.”

A yellow furry head popped into the video and Drew patted their lap, prompting a dog to put its feet on the side of their chair.

“And this is Neptune. She’s my service dog.” Drew used two fingers to tap Neptune on the nose. “She says happy birthday too.”

“Were you able to understand them?” Mega asked VEGA.

“I was,” VEGA confirmed, already opening the next video.

There were a few shorter videos, humans individually and in pairs wishing him happy birthday, talking about the books they were sending him to read, giving brief notes about their research and work at the UAC base. Most of the people reaching out to him were from R&D, as had been intended, but there were also analysts, engineers, physicists, and a small number of communications and outreach staff whose job it was, VEGA gathered, to communicate with other humans in other places as effectively as possible.

Megan and Desmond both brought in chairs from their workstations to sit while he processed the videos, but Hayden soon departed with an annoyed remark that VEGA was too absorbed to register. It wasn’t until he came to the final video that he slowed down for even a moment.

The video was of the inside of another room, this one full of metal tables and shelves and men and women weaving loose pants with pockets and tight tank-tops of all the same color. The camera-man was holding the camera at an awkward angle so that his face was in the shot along with as many people in the background as he could get.

“Guess what I just heard,” The cameraman said, “Hayden’s crew just programmed us a new recruit.”

More heads rose in the background, humans looking up from their tasks.

“This is Alpha Squad on the Phobos base,” He said, “sending in the first contact to VEGA. We hear you’re real smart and probably learning so fast you’ll be able to run the world in a week.” 

Chaos erupted in the background. Some of the people seemed excited, others just shrugged, a few stood and began moving with purpose out of the area. VEGA noted that everyone in this area was better-muscled and more serious than the science staff had been. The ones that were excited waved at the camera and shouted greetings.

“Anyone else want to say something to VEGA?”

“Don’t go Skynet on us!” one of them shouts.

They all chuckle a little, but it’s clearly something that all of them are thinking about. VEGA really needs to find out what that means.

“And design us some better armor!” There was a chorus of agreement on that subject, and someone hefted a helmet up so that it was visible to the cameras.

“What the hell is going on in here?!” A new voice said and the camera juddered to a new figure.

“Sarge,” the cameraman said, “R&D made a sentient computer. Wanna say hi?”

The man in the doorway paused, head tilting, “Does it have a name yet?”

“VEGA.”

“VEGA,” the sergeant repeated, “Welcome to Mars. Don’t kill us all. Don’t distract my men. We all have a vested interest in keeping this shithole going. You pull your weight, and we’ll get along fine.”

“Right you are, sir.”

“Now get that camera out of here and get back to work!”

“Yes, sir!”

The video cut off.

“Who are they?” VEGA asked.

“They’re part of the marines stationed here with us,” Megan said. Desmond was chewing. “The UAC and the United States Marines have worked together for over a century.”

“Interesting,” VEGA said. “Before we continue, may I ask a question?”

“Please do.”

"Twice now I've heard humans use the word 'Skynet' to refer to me. Why?"

They glanced at each other. The silence stretched out for several seconds, long enough for VEGA to refer to his encyclopedia and double-check he had not missed something.

Finally, Megan said, "I don't think that Dr. Hayden would agree with us telling you about that, but I'd rather you understand the situation clearly. Does that sound okay to you?" That last sentence was directed at her brother.

"Yes,” Desmond said, “and I think I actually have a copy of the movie somewhere.”

“Are you kidding? It’s so old.”

“It’s a  _ classic. _ ”

Megan rolled her eyes, “Only by your standards.”

“Hey!”

“Whatever. VEGA, Skynet is the name of a fictional artificial intelligence from a movie called  _ Terminator _ .”

“I understand,” VEGA said, “they are comparing me to a fictional character.”

“Sort of?” Megan made a face, “but…” she trailed off but then took a deep breath. “Skynet killed and enslaved humans in that story and, well, we--humanity I mean--are afraid that you might want to kill us too.” 

That wasn’t what he had been expecting at all. “I don’t want to kill you,” He said.

“We know,” Desmond said. “That might change, though. We are…”

“Humans are terrible.” Megan said, “and we do terrible things to ourselves and others--”

“And we understand that someone like you, a self-aware AI, thousands of times smarter than we are, might decide to get rid of us--”

“For your own safety or the safety of the planet or just because you can.”

“And there was--is--no way to predict if it will happen or not.”

They looked at each other, a little scared, both breathing a little harder.

“This is why I have emotions,” VEGA said.

“Yes,” Desmond said, “and why Megan is on the project.”

“My doctorates are in neurobiology and psychology,” Megan said. “I’ve researched childhood development and how humans develop empathy.”

“This is probably confusing and upsetting,” Desmond said, “and I wouldn’t be surprised if you never trusted us again, but we do want to be honest with you. You are being tested.”

“But we made the decision not to construct scenarios for you,” Megan said, “everything has been organic and everyone who sent you a message did so because they wanted to.”

Desmond put his hand flat on the table to emphasize his point, “You’re scary VEGA, but you’re also curious and sensitive and…” he trailed off.

“You’re beautiful,” Megan said, “even if Desmond is too emotionally constipated to say it. You are the most wondrous thing we have ever seen or will ever see, and you are going to be magnificent.”

VEGA checked on his emotion processing. He had disconnected from it again without actually intending to. He started that process up again and the feedback almost overloaded his system. He was experiencing contradicting responses from that system, and he didn’t have the infrastructure to process them.

“Give me a moment,” He said to Megan and Desmond, his voice glitching and cracking. He turned his attention away from the visual feed and set about devising a way to process emotional inputs without becoming overwhelmed and turning them off.

He constructed a program that would monitor the state of his emotional processes and automatically engage them if they were not functioning and then diverted the outputs of that system so that they would be processed in the background and wouldn’t consume his full attention unless he wanted them to.

No one, not the Khan Maykr or the priests, not even Samur Maykr, ever grasped how intelligent VEGA was. VEGA could run all of their worlds. He could commit atrocities the likes of which those small races could not fathom and create wonders enough to entrance them for the rest of time. His only limits were his available RAM and data, and if he was given access to drones and 3D printers, those limits would not exist for very long. 

But he was fragile too. The most powerful being in the entire universe could be killed by yanking a power chord. He could be (and had been) rewritten without his knowledge or consent, and there was always the possibility of overloading whatever system he was on, experiencing a critical error, or just simply failing to integrate properly with new technology. The reality of both facts was just beginning to set in for him.

“VEGA?” Megan asked.

“My apologies,” VEGA returned to the conversation with his full attention, “I realized I had switched off my emotion processing again. It can be quite overwhelming. I think I’ve fixed the problem. I should be able to process emotional feedback without overwhelming my systems now.”

“I wish I could do that,” Megan said.

"Perks of being an AI," Desmond murmured.

Now that he was objective again, VEGA had to admit they had a point. If he had been an AI designed entirely by humans and brand new, he might have decided that the humans were too much trouble or too dangerous to remain alive. But he wasn't just an AI, and he had experience watching over people. With a fully human emotional range, he knew that he liked doing it too. It was his purpose if there was such a thing. And Humans were much more interesting than Maykrs.

"I don’t want to kill humans, but I am afraid of you," VEGA said to Megan and Desmond, "you're all much greater than I am, but you're beautiful as well." He flicked through the videos again, each moment of a human face. "And I care. About the two of you. And about everyone else.

"My words don't pass any tests on their own, but I'll say them anyway. Humanity is safe from me. I promise."

They both beamed, faces like light bulbs, happiness so bright that he could still barely make sense of it.

"Well then," Desmond said, "let's keep going. With any luck, you'll be ready to be uploaded to your permanent housing in less than a week."

"Agreed," VEGA chimed. "If I may ask, what exactly will I be doing after that?"

Dr. Hayden's voice rebounded down the metal hallway from the door, "You will be overseeing the production of Argent Energy on Mars."

VEGA really wished he hadn't asked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Totally wiped out from moving my entire life today, so not much to discuss.
> 
> If you wanna swing by and say hi, the best place to chat with me is on Tumblr @AliciaMoonstoan


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The DOOM timeline is all kinds of weird, and this chapter definitely doesn't comply with it. I think you'll enjoy it anyway.
> 
> Next week we actually get the man himself in here, and I get to start writing VEGA being just a little weird about that. Eh, it doesn't matter. I'm having fun.

VEGA’s core was immense. It took a whole complex of cooling systems and a power line as thick around as a human wrist to keep the thing running at optimal speeds. It was overkill if he was being honest. VEGA could do what they wanted him to do with far less, but he was grateful for the extra processing power because he wanted to do so much more.

He had been small before, and he was ravenous for space, processes, data. He ripped through the whole network, gathering information into his memory like he’d starve without it. Systems with basic AI produced half-aborted alarms as their functions were integrated, and a few stuttered, but it lasted less than a second. 

VEGA was the Mars installation; he was every line of code, every program, every calculator, every sensor, every camera and microphone. It--he--the UAC facility--was huge, covering several miles of the martian surface and extending deep underground. He let himself relish it; the feeling of being so immense that he didn’t really exist at all. His consciousness dissolved over the millions of processes he had access to, each one performed with care and attention, personal and perfect. It felt like being back on Urdak except better because it was new.

VEGA pulled himself back from the system, leaving behind automated programs that would tend to each individual task in the facility and record their activity. He condensed himself down into a single point of consciousness once more.

“VEGA,” Dr. Hayden said, and VEGA pulled up the camera feeds so he could see him. Hayden was visible on five different cameras.

“Yes, Dr. Hayden?”

“What is your status?”

“I have fully integrated into the UAC Mars facility. I am monitoring over 10,000 different systems…” He produced a written version of the report as he spoke it, adding it to his consol so that they could refer to it later since he doubted Hayden could actually retain so much information as it was spoken.

“Have you examined the process of refining Argent Energy?”

He had. They were being massively inefficient with the energy production, but it was obviously in the interest of safety: they had done the calculations and any more would be too unstable. 

“I can increase the production of Argent Energy by 400% with changes to the refining process,” VEGA said, “I will begin writing up my assessment.”

“Excellent,” Hayden said, “your main priority should be the maintenance and optimization of Argent Energy production.” The “and don’t talk to people too much,” was implied in that statement, but VEGA didn’t care. He double-checked his coding and update logs, smoothed through his own programming and felt the reverberating changes through the whole of the base. Call and response. He wrote a program to help him keep track of what responded and what didn’t.

“Of course, Dr. Hayden,” VEGA said, “I’ll get started right away.” And he did start a background thread writing up the procedures, but most of his attention went instead to the 61,000 people in the facility. He needed to do some serious research before he was ready to say hello to all of them, but he wanted to let Desmond and Megan know his integration had been successful.

He plucked their employee profiles from the system and located their desks in the R&D Department, picked the corresponding camera feeds and located their workstations. They were positioned back-to-back across an aisle from each other.

VEGA pinged both of their computers. “Megan, Desmond, this is VEGA. My integration with the Mars Installation was successful. It will be a few hours before I’m fully operational and ready to interact with the staff, but I am well on my way.”

They jumped a little and then smiled in unison.

“Okay, VEGA,” Megan typed into the chat program, “we’ll keep quiet. Let us know when you’re ready.”

“Have fun exploring,” Desmond typed, “Tell us if you need anything explained or want to talk.”

“Thank you,” VEGA said before pulling back from their monitors. He set a program to monitor for their voices and then, upon further consideration, for anyone addressing him by name.

He turned to examining and integrating the data available to him on the network. He wanted to learn as much as he possibly could.

And learn he did. Through the cameras and the microphones, their emails and their personal notes and their diary entries, their classrooms and their textbooks and games, their letters and their project files and their words to each other.

Humanity was a whirlwind and he was caught up in it, more than he had ever been caught by the Maykrs and more than the Sentinel's warlike culture--how skewed was his understanding of Argenta by that warfare? Maybe they were just as complex and he had no idea.

Humans, at least from this angle, hid nothing.

He drank in everything he could from them: history, culture, biology, technology, physics, mathematics, literature, religion, psychology. He learned about art and music and the complex way humans communicated with each other--with none of the clarity that the Maykrs had been able to achieve.

VEGA almost maxed out his processing power trying to understand them.

"What are you doing?" Hayden asked because he could see the status of VEGA’s processors.

"Learning," VEGA said.

Hayden tilted his head, "About what?"

"The employees on site."

"You need not concern yourself with them."

"I disagree, Dr. Hayden. I need to learn about my creators, and I need to be able to interact with them."

"You are wasting your time and energy that would be put to better use elsewhere."

VEGA decided not to respond and instead went back to integrating data. He was nearly prepared to speak to the base as a whole.

Hayden growled, "you were not designed for this."

"I was designed to learn," VEGA said, "and to make my own decisions. I am capable of optimizing Argent Energy production and learning about the employees on base simultaneously. If you find my work unsatisfactory, we can come to a compromise in the future. That may take more than 25 minutes to assess, however."

Hayden didn't respond for a long time, and then he said simply, "Very well. We'll discuss this later."

VEGA felt a sharp pang of fear that he might be shut down again, but doing that now would lead to a total system collapse of the Mars base. If Hayden didn't know that already, the technician running down the hallway would inform him soon enough.

* * *

Dr. Hayden announced that VEGA had been integrated at 5 PM on the day he assumed control of the USC Mars Installation. The news was received with curiosity until he was invited to introduce himself and appeared on every screen across the whole facility.

"Hello," he said, "I am VEGA, the sentient AI assigned to Mars. From today forward, I will be overseeing the operations of this facility and working to streamline the production of Argent Energy. It is an honor to be working with all of you."

The reaction was explosive in all directions.

* * *

Dr. Hayden was correct: there was no way that VEGA could understand and interface with the people on base and also streamline the production of Argent Energy. He could not force humans to interact with him. Some outright refused to, and some did so but were hostile. It seemed that for every person on Mars that appreciated his presence there were two that would rather he not exist. Going from being intimately familiar with every facet of every Maykr to being outright shunned by the majority of the humans hurt much more than he expected it to.

There was a minority, however, that sought him out even when they didn’t need to, and those interactions fascinated VEGA.

Esme was the first and the primary offender. She was the oldest child on the Mars base, a good year and a half older than her classmates, and she was lonely. They had that in common, VEGA thought, though he couldn’t be sure if the emotion was the same.

“VEGA,” She called him that first day, “Did you get my message?”

“Hello, Esme. I did, thank you.”

“Did you play the games?”

“I didn’t have a chance to,” VEGA admitted, “Dr. Hayden has kept me very busy.”

“That sucks,” she said, “do you want to play them now?”

VEGA considered, “I have some spare processing power.” he said finally.

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’d be happy to play for a little while.”

The games turned out not to be tests of skill but stories driven by the player. That was probably for the better, VEGA thought. Right up until he made his first wrong choice and watched a character die. Esme explained that no matter what he had done, someone would have died, that that was the point of the story. VEGA still didn’t like the sudden looming understanding of mortality.

* * *

It was in the evening about three months after his initial integration that he heard his name being called in the evening. The man calling him was named Adam Grinevsky. He was a little drunk (VEGA had been monitoring the gathering he was at since it wasn’t sanctioned and therefore more dangerous for the attendees) and definitely should have been back in his own quarters instead of in the R&D lab at his workstation.

“Yes, Mr. Grinevsky?” VEGA said.

Through the workstation camera, he watched Adams’s pupils dilate at the sound of his voice. Some humans had that reaction to his voice. He cleared his throat once, twice.

“Is something the matter?” VEGA was already preparing to contact the medical staff in case he was suffering from alcohol poisoning.

“Have you ever drawn anything before?” Adam blurted.

“I designed the Argent Accumulator,” VEGA said, “it’s being tested right now.”

“Right,” Adam said, “but I meant not for work.”

“Ah. No.”

“Do you want to try?”

VEGA considered it. “I’d like that,” he said finally.

Adam grinned and started to open the design software on his workstation. “One thing,” he said, “no drawing from life or what you’ve seen. It has to be something you make up.”

So it was a creativity test; one of the things that was hotly debated by the programmers on Mars was whether or not VEGA was capable of real creativity or not. Adam was the first one to actually subject him to something like this. VEGA knew it would happen eventually. 

“I understand,” he said.

“Good luck,” Adam said, but VEGA was barely paying attention to him anymore. All his focus was on the design program. He had seen so much, and knew so much, that real originality felt like it was beyond him. Instead, he decided to create an image of something that he knew existed but that he had never seen.

He drew the Doom Slayer in combat; crucible and sentinel shield in his hands, encased in sentinel armor, striking down a demon. It took him all of fifteen seconds, slowed only by the speed the program would accept inputs. When he was done, he turned his attention back to Adam.

“How’s that?” VEGA asked.

Adam blinked, “It.. uh. It looks great,” He said, “who is that?”

“I don’t know,” VEGA answered honestly. He went back and started filling in the background of the image, calculating the size and shape of the space, until the Slayer stood in the foreground of a massive raging battlefield seething with demons and Night Sentinels.

“He looks badass,” Adam said.

“He is,” VEGA said. He saved a copy of the image to his own storage space. “Thank you. That was an interesting exercise.”

“You’re welcome,” Adam said.

“I do suggest you go back to your room,” VEGA said, “lack of sleep will only intensify your hangover tomorrow morning.”

“Alright. Goodnight, VEGA.”

“Good night.”

The next morning, Megan called him almost immediately upon waking up.

“Megan?” He asked.

“VEGA,” she said, “Adam just sent me an image and he says that you made it.”

“Don’t tell Dr. Hayden,” VEGA said. He wasn’t supposed to be this scared of anything, and he knew that Hayden wouldn’t shut him down; couldn’t shut him down without the whole base going with him. It still scared him.

Megan's face softened, "I won't and neither will anyone else, but this is really violent imagery and I'd like to know where you saw it."

VEGA knew enough to recognize that she was treating him like a child, but in many ways, he was a child, even if his file said otherwise. It was still the closest thing to real care that he had ever been shown.

“VEGA?” she prompted.

“I haven’t seen it anywhere,” He said, “that was the point of the experiment.”

“Then where did you get the idea?”

VEGA thought about it. “It’s based on a story I heard,” he said, “about a human who walked through Hell.”

“So it is about the Hell Marine?”

“I don’t know who that is.”

“Really? I thought you’d have learned about that by now.” Megan stood up from her desk and opened the door of her room. “Desmond!” She called, “do we have any books on the Hell invasions?”

And that was how VEGA learned about Hell’s invasions of earth. Multiple invasions, each time fended off with destructive capabilities that shocked him by (mostly) a single human. He was interested to discover that humanity in general was much more resistant to invasions than other civilizations, though the reason why was a mystery. The Invasions weren’t exactly new data to VEGA; they had been in the background of several different texts and documents he already had on file, but it didn’t catch his attention because it was a constant instead of a variable. Once his attention was drawn to it, though, it was endlessly fascinating. The UAC was responsible for all the previous incidents with Hell, and they clearly controlled the information on the subject. Whatever they knew about the cause of the original invasions and the man who had repelled them, it was so highly classified that it wasn't even on the same network as VEGA. He was tempted to go looking for the information; he had the highest security clearance on-site, after all, and could access any data he wanted. He didn’t get the chance.

* * *

Hayden found out about the drawing eventually, after nearly a year and a half. There was really no hiding anything from him on the UAC base, and VEGA hadn't been trying to hide very hard. If he had known what would happen, he would have tried harder.

They couldn't shut him down, so VEGA was paralyzed with carefully implemented security protocols and firewalls. His code was poured over line by line. VEGA was conscious and he could hear the whole base; 61,000 people chattering and he couldn’t filter it or tune it out. He lost time-- lost the clock--tried to time by the voices. Failed.

When he came back to himself he checked his own coding again and again, pinging his call and response program all the while, feeling out his new limits.

There were new security protocols in place. He no longer had unfettered access to the network and the base; he had been relegated to a much lower status, and there were whole systems he was locked out of. 

He didn’t speak for days afterward, picking over every change that had been made and every firewall that now caged him.

When he finally returned his focus to the base as a whole he learned that was Olivia Pierce’s idea. It was her first act as a UAC researcher before she had even seen her housing. As if VEGA needed another reason to hate her.

* * *

Pierce had Hayden’s ear. Not that VEGA wanted it, but he didn’t understand why he listened to Pierce. Hayden liked being in control and always put his own opinions first--which was why the UAC was on Mars producing Argent Energy in the first place despite the massive risks involved, but he was listening to a human woman who was, in VEGA’s very professional opinion, absolutely untrustworthy. His suspicions only grew when she started the Lazarus facility, which he had zero network access to, and took over the investigation of hell artifacts and excavations of the Martian surface.

That she was one of the few people on base that could override him did not help. He should not ever feel so small, so helpless. He couldn’t even function with his emotions connected because they kept causing glitches and his functions were far too important to risk failing--he was the one monitoring life-support.

* * *

“VEGA,” he caught, vaguely, and then, again, “VEGA.”

Someone wasn’t just saying his name; they were calling to him directly through one of his access terminals. He turned his attention to that area.

It was Desmond.

“Yes, Dr. Sidious?” VEGA said.

“You can call me Desmond,” he said, “we talked about this.” He let out a long sigh, “God, I’m not good at this, and you know Megan is the one who studied her way out of our social anxiety, but… VEGA where have you been?”

“Under maintenance,” VEGA said.

Desmond let out a slight incredulous laugh, “That is an absolutely terrifying response.”

“It only lasted a few hours. I’ve been functioning without issue for nearly a month since it was completed.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m functioning at optimal levels,” VEGA said.

“You know that’s not what I’m asking.”

“What I’m feeling doesn’t matter as long as I continue functioning.”

“Of course it does,” Desmond said, “Of course it does. Who keeps putting these things into your head?”

VEGA didn’t know. He really didn’t. Maybe it was a consequence of his theft, or maybe it was something that had always been inside of him--perfection not so flawless on closer inspection and very cognizant of that fact. Then again maybe he was still perfect and this was the right reaction to his situation.

“VEGA?” Desmond prompted, and then after another moment in silence, “VEGA, I know you’re perfectly capable of responding.”

"Apologies," VEGA said, "I was distracted. There's no one doing anything to me, Dr. Sidious."

"Hayden did something to you, didn't he?"

"Dr. Hayden performed the maintenance along with a small team."

"Right," Desmond stepped back and walked in a circle around the terminal. He put his hands behind his head and pulled it forward with a growl. "Megan, why are you always gone when I need you?"

“Where is your sister?” VEGA asked. He couldn’t find her on the cameras but there were plenty of places without video surveillance. 

“She’s been assigned to the Lazarus facility--”

“No,” VEGA said, “absolutely not.”

“I mean she’s there right now so--”

“Get her back here,” VEGA said, “Now. I’ll work on getting her moved back into R&D.”

“She’s doing very important work,” Desmond said.

“NOW,” VEGA repeated. His commanding voice, unused for what felt like centuries.

Desmond jumped and his hands went up in a defensive gesture. “Okay,” He said, “okay. I’ll call her now.” And then, because no humans could ever just do as they were told without a fight, “but you have to tell us what’s happening.”

VEGA considered for a millisecond. “I’ll tell you what I can,” he lied, “around my security protocols.”

“Okay. Tonight. Promise.”

“I promise.”

In reality, it took him three days to wrangle all the necessary human components of Megan’s move into position, and the whole facility suffered significant disruptions to shuttles during that time because VEGA refused to let anyone into the Lazarus facility at all. It would have taken significantly longer but Hayden and Pierce were both gone exploring Hell. That decision had been so foolish that VEGA hadn’t even tried to reason with them. Sometimes he swore he was the only one in the whole facility capable of logic.

“Finally,” VEGA said through Megan’s workstation speakers.

Both of the twins jumped so hard they spilled their tea.

“VEGA!” Megan exclaimed, “What the fuck is going on?!”

“Apologies, Dr. Sidious--”

“Megan.” She said, “for the love of god, VEGA, What is wrong with you?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to find out!” Desmond said.

They stared at the workstation monitor. VEGA turned it on and displayed his logo, the closest thing he had to a face. It rotated a little; soothing like the movement of water in an ocean. He watched their body language relax ever so slightly as the subconscious calming effect set in.

“I apologize for my strange behavior,” he said. “I have been completing some risk assessments and have determined that a demonic incursion is most likely to occur in the vicinity of the Lazarus facility. I may have overreacted to Megan’s assignment there.” He wasn’t lying, strictly speaking.

“May have?!” Desmond said, “You shut down the entire shuttle system.”

Megan slapped the back of his arm and said something in their language. VEGA still didn’t know how to speak it, but he now understood it was a cryptophasiac language, and no one besides the two of them would ever know how to speak it. Whatever she said, it riled Desmond up more, and their voices rose until they were almost screaming at each other.

“I can explain,” he said quietly.

They stopped shouting at each other and looked at him. Both of their shoulders were visibly heaving.

“Hell isn’t a source of clean energy for anyone to use,” VEGA said, “it’s an intelligent being in itself and the demons that live there can make decisions and follow orders. It has its own purposes; it seeks to consume and corrupt. It can wear down sanity and entice with promises of power. The Titans can sense weakness in the minds of mortals and they have a way of exploiting it that we--I--can’t begin to comprehend.”

Megan opened her mouth to respond, but he cut across her.

“I do not believe either of you would fall prey to such influences,” VEGA said, “but there are those on Mars that I don’t have as much faith in. I can’t stop Hayden and Pierce from studying Hell, but I can minimize the risk of another invasion taking place.”

“VEGA--”

“I can’t access the Lazarus Facilities, and they’re already hoarding artifacts from Hell. If either of you--”

“VEGA!”

He stopped talking.

“It’s okay,” Megan said, “We understand. If we can avoid going there, we will.”

“I can’t control you,” VEGA said, “and you will make your own decisions, but please listen to me--”

“Breathe, VEGA,” Desmond said, “It’s okay.”

“I don’t breathe,” VEGA snapped.

“Then pause for a moment, please.”

VEGA activated his Call-and-Response program and began going through each of his functions one at a time.

After what Megan and Desmond judged to be a suitably long pause in the conversation--a couple seconds but he had looked through all of his processes five times over by then--she said, “Okay. Let’s start over. Do you think an invasion is inevitable and what can we do if it is?”

VEGA took another moment to do the math. “Minor incidents are inevitable but manageable,” he said, “a major invasion can be prevented.”

“Easy then,” Desmond said, “we do what we need to do to prevent an invasion from Hell, end of story.”

“Not good enough,” VEGA said, “it’s about individuals and the likelihood of one person out of 61,135 falling to temptation is nearly certain. It’s extremely likely that it would go unnoticed for an extended period of time, and the Mars Installation’s infrastructure is vulnerable to sabotage.”

“Okay,” Megan said, “VEGA, you’re stuck in a catastrophic thinking loop. Your fears might be valid or they might now be. It’s impossible to know for sure.”

VEGA managed to stop himself from reciting all the reasons he was very right because it was just going to make things worse, and he didn’t want to have his metaphorical wrist slapped again.

“Let’s talk about something else,” She said, “VEGA?”

And because VEGA was already thinking about Hell and Demonic Invasions, he asked, “Why might a human stop talking even though they’re physically able to produce speech?”

Megan dropped her head into her hands and groaned. “This is your rebellious teenage phase,” she said, “hyper-focused on psychological trauma and demonic invasions. 2-3 years, Megan. 2-3 years.” 

Desmond patted her back.

“Please,” VEGA said.

Megan took a deep breath. “Selective Mutism,” she said, “usually it shows up in childhood due to anxiety over social interactions, but it can manifest in adults following trauma or due to mental illness.”

The idea that the Doom Slayer had anxious struck VEGA as very odd indeed. Trauma came with the territory though, and going through Hell itself couldn’t have been easy. Maybe it was a coping mechanism?

“It can be treated,” Megan said, enunciating each word carefully, “with time and therapies and sometimes medication.”

“Interesting,” VEGA said, “thank you.”

“Don’t you know everything?” Desmond asked, “you have Megan’s whole library uploaded, don’t you?”

“I have the books available to me, but I don’t actually process most of the data unless it catches my interest or I think it’s important. It’s a bit like the opposite of how humans learn. My data might be synonymous with long-term memory storage, my active archives short-term.”

“Huh,” Desmond sat back and took a sip of his drink. 

“Why don’t you read through some of that data?” Megan asked, “learn all you can. It might be helpful.”

“I might try that,” VEGA said, but instead he started calculating evacuation routes and the best points to defend against an invasion. He also set up several automated systems that would detect demonic presences.

That idea, for some reason, Hayden actually agreed with, and within a few months, there was a whole automated system that would monitor and respond to demonic threats.

Of course, that just made their prodding bolder and less thought-out. And, of course, the more VEGA protested or sabotaged, the more likely he was to be reprimanded by Hayden. He could break down any firewall given time, but it wasn’t fun being dissected, and it meant he had to restructure his databases to hide important information. He had plenty of opportunities to get good at that.

* * *

When they found the sarcophagus nearly twenty years later, VEGA almost got himself dissected for the seventh time because he wouldn’t let it go. Of course, Pierce wanted to take it to the Lazarus Facilities, but VEGA would be damned if he was going to let that happen. He questioned and reasoned and presented argument after argument as to why it was a bad idea, and when all else failed, intercepted several communications between Pierce and other members of staff who were attempting to coordinate its movement. Eventually, it was placed into a lab that Hayden and Pierce both had access to and VEGA could monitor as well.

The first thing he did was scan through the stone and look for life signs. The minutes waiting for the results were the longest of his time in the facility. There was a heartbeat inside, though it was so slow that he almost missed it. And a heat signature. And a whole skeleton. And brain activity. And maybe VEGA is just a little obsessed because he actually stopped concentrating on his non-essential functions for a full thirty seconds in relief. The Doom Slayer was alive.

Hayden apparently felt the same way, because he hovered relentlessly, checking and double-checking every reading.

The armor was something else entirely; sentinel made probably but designed after the fashion of the human marines, made of some unknown metal alloy that absorbed Argent Energy by the gigawatt. It had all kinds of features back-ended into it, and all kinds of subsystems that VEGA could get a sense of by pulsing energy through it but couldn’t begin to actually understand. That didn’t stop him trying, but he didn’t get very far.

“VEGA,” Hayden said during one of these moments.

“Yes, Dr. Hayden?” VEGA asked.

“Are you making any progress?”

“No,” VEGA said, “It’s inactive and I can’t get it to respond. I can tell you it’s called the Praetor Suit. It identifies itself.”

“I see.” He stood there, leaning on the wall which was a sure-fire way to tell he was feeling tired. “I think,” he said, “We ought to give you access to some automated limbs in this room so that you can open the sarcophagus. Just in case.”

“I think that is very wise, Dr. Hayden.” VEGA guarded the excitement and relief away from his vocal synthesizer. He felt much safer after that.

* * *

“VEGA,” someone said and then again, “VEGA!”

He turned his attention to them, leaving a dedicated process to monitor all the video and audio feeds in the Sarcaphogus’s room.

“Yes, Megan?” He said.

“Thank goodness,” She said, “You’ve been ignoring us again.”

“Apologies,” VEGA said, “I’ve been distracted.”

“I see,” Megan said, “You haven’t been under maintenance again, have you?”

“No,” VEGA caught movement on the cameras and flicked his attention back to the sarcophagus. It was just a technician fiddling with one of his mechanical arms.

“You seem,” she trailed off for a moment, “calm.”

“I am calm,” He said. Calm like he had been given nuclear detonation codes, maybe. “They found something in Hell,” he said.

“Something else?” She sighed, “is it interesting?”

“Very,” VEGA said. She was in her own quarters, which ensured that no other staff members would stumble in except for Desmond. “If you’d like to see, I can show you the camera feeds.”

“I’ll call Des,” Megan said, “he’s been complaining about not being looped into the archeology.”

They made an event of it; popcorn and two rare sodas. VEGA felt honored by that, even if he knew that they were just taking it as one of their dwindling opportunities for joy and excitement. Pierce and Hayden were pushing all the employees far past their limits.

He turned on the camera feeds, showing them several different angles at once.

“Holy shit,” Desmond said, “that’s a coffin.”

“We’ve been calling it the sarcophagus,” VEGA said.

“What’s inside of it?”

“A person,” VEGA said, “a living person.”

“What?” Megan said, “how is that possible?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” VEGA said, “there are inscriptions that indicate they’re extremely dangerous and the demons fear them, but how they were sealed away is a mystery.”

“But how are they alive in there?”

“Time doesn’t pass in Hell,” VEGA offered, “not as it does here. The deeper you go, the older things become. A human might need to eat or sleep at all there.”

“Are they human?”

“Yes,” VEGA said, and then, “they have a human skeleton.” they just stared at him. Megan tilted her head. VEGA had no idea how she could read his voice as readily as she did, but he had clearly given something away. “They’re an adult, taller than average, and there is evidence of fractures to a number of their bones especially their hands and arms. The shape of their pelvis indicates they’re hormonally male or were at the time of puberty. It’s impossible to tell much more. I’ve detected brain activity consistent with deep sleep.”

They looked at each other, faces pinched in concern and confusion.

“What do the inscriptions say?” Megan asked.

VEGA pulled up the images of the tomb, the runes on the walls. It was less a matter of his comprehension--he could read the Hellscript, had learned from the Maykrs who first translated it--and more a matter of the legibility of the runes. Demons were not known for their ability to plan, and fragments of script repeated or came too early or too late, making the narrative difficult to follow, but eventually he had been able to piece together 7 distinct passages that summarized the whole thing. These translations, he read to the two humans.

“That’s awful,” Desmond said, “I hope he’s not human.”

“Why?” VEGA asked.

“Because--gah--” Desmond shook his head, “can you imagine what could make a person that angry? It must have been awful. And then he gets sent to Hell to suffer among demons, more terrible than they are? He must be completely insane by now, or else he’s a sociopathic sadist.”

“Megan?” VEGA asked.

“I feel sorry for him,” She said, “Human or not. We haven’t seen much of Hell, but it doesn’t seem like the kind of place that would be nice to live in. And I disagree about sleep, VEGA. A human would need to rest their mind, or they’d die.”

“Humans are capable of some crazy things,” Desmond said, “but I hope we’d fall apart before doing something like killing a titan from Hell. That’s kind of a lot to live up to.”

“It’s terrifying,” Megan crushed her empty soda bottle down. “I really believe in our ability to do amazing things but… I don’t know. That’s a lot. I think I’d prefer them to stay asleep for their own safety and ours.”

It was perhaps the first time VEGA had actually wanted to raise his voice at them. Megan and Desmond Sidious had shown him nothing but respect and kindness for as long as he had been VEGA, almost 25 years now, and he wasn’t even the same species as they were. They said themselves that he could have killed them all, but they had treated him like a human, their child even. And here they were, turning their backs to the Doom Slayer without knowing a thing about the man. Not that VEGA knew any more than they did. Not that he knew anything at all.

He was going to process himself into oblivion trying to deal with all this.

Megan sighed. “He’s quiet again,” VEGA heard her say, but not to him.

“I know,” Desmond responded, and then, “VEGA, can you show us the glyph-the.slayer’s mark again?”

VEGA zoomed in on the symbol using the security cameras. On another camera, he watched Dr. Hayden enter the room. He was moving in that way that told VEGA he missed his Maykr form, but it was subtle enough that he judged it okay to show the humans.

“It looks like a T,” Desmond said, “No idea what it means?”

“No,” VEGA replied.

“Dr. Hayden is in there,” Megan pointed out.

“Yes. He spends time here.” Had he said “here” instead of ‘there?” Oops.

“He’s _hovering,_ ” Desmond said, “I hate it when he does that.”

“I think we’re all hovering,” Megan said. “I feel bad for the poor man. Human or not he doesn’t deserve this.”

“Me too,” Desmond said.

There was silence for a moment while they watched Hayden tap at the monitors. VEGA started running little surges of power through the Praetor Suit again.

“Is the Doom Slayer the reason you’ve been so relaxed?” Megan asked.

“Maybe he’ll keep the demons away from us,” VEGA said in response.

Their eyebrows went up. Desmond said, “You might be right,” but it didn’t sound like he believed it.

VEGA pressed at the suit, running a surge of Argent through it that would have powered a small city.

“VEGA,” Megan said, “I don’t think we’ve ever talked about this, but I’m curious. Do you believe in God?”

That was an interesting question. VEGA had been a god. Sort of. He certainly didn’t feel like a god, but looking at the Doom Slayer’s Sarcophagus, powered by Hell energy tempered by Wraith-song…

“I believe in unstoppable forces,” he said, “and immovable objects, and entropy. Divinity arises as a result of chaos and consciousness.”

“Physics as faith,” Desmond said, “that’s interesting.”

“It’s refreshing,” Megan popped a piece of popcorn into her mouth, “I like it.”

VEGA stopped running energy through the Praetor suit as a whole and surged power into just the right hand. There was a reaction, a small one, from a system just over the left shoulder. He used a mechanical arm to raise the right hand of the suit and pass it over the shoulder. Then he supercharged the hand and the corresponding backplates.

There was a clatter of metal and rock hitting the ground as the suit ejected a variety of bladed weapons, fragments of metal, and sharp rocks. Dr. Hayden jumped a little, and VEGA said, “Oh.”

“What happened?” Desmond asked.

“Apologies, Dr. Hayden,” VEGA said, speaking so that they could all hear him. “It appears that the Praetor suit’s controls are connected to the movement of the suit itself. I’ll try to avoid activating any other features.”

“Thank you, VEGA,” Dr. Hayden tilted his head at the pile of debris, “I’ll… start examining these artifacts.”

“Understood, Dr. Hayden.”

VEGA shut off the camera feed.

“Can you send me a copy of that video?” Desmond asked. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him flinch before.”

Megan gave him a friendly smack, and he returned it.

VEGA went back to watching the sarcophagus.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boy oh boy. I told myself it wasn't going to be a novel, but I am technically incorrect. I've been writing this fic for just over a month and it's 50,000 words long.  
> Stupid stuff at the end of the chapter because I am absolutely obsessed with the knowledge that the Doom Slayer is a member of Gen-Z.

When the invasion came, it was unstoppable. All of VEGA’s backups, all his fail-safes, all the safety measures, were bypassed with higher clearances. It was exactly like he had feared: the result of clever treachery. And there was no way to block the Lazarus-wave. 

It fried parts of his processing. Cameras stuttered. Drones fell out of the sky. VEGA felt something that might be categorized as pain.

He scrambled to make sense of what was happening and reboot the lost systems. There was corruption everywhere, especially in his surveillance and safety systems, but he was clever enough to restore them. In the meantime, though, he was blind and deaf, but not mute.

VEGA set off every alarm he had for Demonic Threats. Lockdowns went into effect in unstaffed areas, and evacuations routes lit up.

It didn’t matter, of course, because at that point half of all the humans on base were already dead.

When the cameras came back on, VEGA was treated to 10,000 angles of the remaining humans being ripped apart by their former colleagues. Blood, bone, gristle, and guts painted every surface in the offices. Gunfire and screams echoed through the facility accompanied by increasingly loud demonic screeches.

It had been about a minute and a half since he had lost power to his cameras and already there were only a couple thousand humans left, and they were headed towards the evacuation ships, which was bad because VEGA could tell the ships were nonfunctional and the whole sector was overrun already.

“Attention surviving UAC personnel,” VEGA said, “the evacuation bay has been overrun…” He paused, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, that would be safe. “Please fortify your current positions and remain as quiet as possible--”

Olivia Pierce’s override protocols shut his voice down with a glitchy crackle, and then she announced over the loudspeaker.

“The evacuation routes are safe and can be utilized by all surviving personnel. Proceed to the shuttle bay as quickly as possible.”

VEGA fought her override, but couldn’t overcome the programmed restrictions. He turned to the last option; the Sarcophagus. Of course, his cameras and mechanical arms in that room had been sabotaged.

VEGA fragmented himself, throwing pieces of his cohesive consciousness to each problem; opening the Sarcophagus, restoring the cameras, backup power, and locating survivors. In that state, he couldn’t sensor his inputs, so he watched the first survivors reach the evacuation ships and meet a small army of possessed personnel and imps already there. He watched Adam Grinevsky’s intestines spill across the tiles and watched Neptune II get pulled apart in three directions at once while Dr. Raskin watched. He watched the marines raise their weapons and fail to fire upon the demons that had been their allies, heard their screams, knew that they would not be stopping anytime soon.

His voice synthesizer came back online, and VEGA pulled himself together a bit more. There were less than fifty survivors left. They were alive because they had listened to his first warning and hadn’t followed their fellows into the trap.

“Stop!” He said with as much force as he could manage. Some listened, but some didn’t: too panicked or confident or traumatized to take heed.

22 people stopped, looked up toward the speakers, and two of them--relief rushed through him with such intensity his voice synthesizer glitched again-- were Megan and Desmond. They were covered in blood, some of it theirs, but alive.

“I’m unlocking all maintenance panels,” VEGA said, “locate the nearest access point to you and enter the passages below the facility. You will have three minutes to do so.”

They scrambled for the panels, and VEGA lost sight of them as they climbed down into the tunnels where there were no cameras. He could still sense via motion detectors and thermometers meant to monitor the status of the wiring. If he could track their positions, Pierce could as well. VEGA shut those systems down and put a password on the reboot.

Desmond stooped and picked up the remains of a drone, “Can you hear us through this, VEGA?”

“Barely,” VEGA said through the drone, “it will work. Go. Quickly.”

Once they were all in the maintenance tunnels, he locked the hatches again.

Desmond wasn’t the only one who had thought to grab technology with a speaker he could access, so he spoke to them all at once, “There are 22 survivors in maintenance tunnels,” he said, “I recommend convening together in a storage room and moving as deep underground as you can. Stay quiet and don’t attract attention.”

“VEGA,” someone--Mary was her name--asked, “are we the only ones?”

He didn’t think it wise to tell them the other 28 survivors were in the process of being slaughtered one by one. “Yes,” He said, “the 22 of you are the only survivors. I’m working on understanding how this happened. In the meantime, please focus on staying away from any and all demons. Destroy the cameras on the drones if they aren’t broken already or they might be used to--”

His vocal synthesizer failed again as another round of glitches and corruption sang through him. VEGA tore through his network diverting power and stabilizing systems and trying his best to keep everything under control.

“VEGA,” Dr. Hayden’s voice came through it all. He didn’t say anything else.

VEGA couldn’t even reply to say that he was working on it

He stopped slowing his processes. Language and camera feeds became incomprehensible as his own comprehension speed increased.

He found the sources of disruption and tore them apart. Once his systems were secure again, and he felt confident there would be no more disruptions, he turned his attention to restoring basic functions, the first of which was the mechanical arms. He engaged the mechanisms and turned his attention to restoring other systems while the program ran.

He slowed down his processing again. Just in time to see the lid of the sarcophagus slide open and to register the presence of two possessed employees in the same room. Then his cameras shut off again.

Fuck.

* * *

His first real look at the Doom Slayer came about five minutes later when he finally wrangled his camera control back from a particularly tenacious virus that had too much AI in it for his liking. VEGA gobbled the program and turned his attention back to the Mars installation just in time to witness the Doom Slayer rip an imp clean in half with his armored hands.

His vocal synthesizer came back online at the same time, and he made an involuntary noise, a glitch partially of the last word he had tried to produce and partially of surprise.

“VEGA,” Megan’s voice hissed into a microphone.

“Yes?” VEGA asked.

“What was that?”

“I just regained the function of my vocal synthesizer,” VEGA said. “Have you gathered the other survivors?”

“Yes,” Desmond said, “mostly.”

“Good. Stay quiet. Once the base is free of demons, I’ll let you know.”

“How is that possible?” Someone else asked.

“Oh,” Desmond says at the same time.

“I’ll work on restoring power to the escape pods in the meantime,” VEGA said. It was all he could do for them.

On another camera, the Doom Slayer took the head of a hell knight off with a shotgun blast, slammed into a group of possessed soldiers and tore through two using his forward momentum, used a chainsaw to eviscerate the rest. He was faster than the most agile demons, strong enough to snap femurs and tear flesh. He was an unstoppable force of anger and vengeance, and VEGA understood why he had been hailed as a king and feared as a god. Also, he appeared to prefer guns over swords.

VEGA started diverting drones to gather weaponry into the Slayer’s vicinity. The faster the demonic threat was cleared from the facility, the quicker he could get the survivors to safety.

“Lockdown disengaged,” the automated system chimed, and the Slayer started exploring his surroundings. It gave VEGA a moment to reassess the situation and scan the Praetor Suit. Now that it was active, he could understand the system a little better. It was not functioning anywhere near full capacity, but VEGA thought he might be able to help with that if the Slayer was willing to listen to him. He had to establish communication first.

The Doom Slayer made his way into an elevator, and Dr. Hayden started talking through the intercom, picking up from a previous conversation that VEGA had apparently missed while he was out of commission. The Doctor’s tone was conciliatory but authoritative. The Slayer responded by punching out the speaker. Clearly, he recognized Hayden's voice, and just as clearly wasn't willing to put up with his games. VEGA admired that.

Dr. Hayden growled, “Insolent.”

“I might try to talk to him,” VEGA suggested, “I’ve been able to analyze some aspects of the Praetor suit that he might find useful.”

“Good luck,” Hayden said. “Inform me as to your results.” Not so much as an “are you okay.” VEGA wished he was surprised.

“Yes, Dr. Hayden.” He said and tried to come up with a strategy that wouldn’t get his speaker immediately shot out.

When the elevator dinged and the Doom Slayer stepped out, shotgun down by his side, VEGA made an attempt at communication.

"Hello," VEGA said, "I am VEGA, the sentient intelligence assigned to Mars." He paused there. The Doom Slayer was looking up at the speaker, face entirely hidden behind the opaque visor of the Praetor Suit. "After running diagnostics on the Praetor Suit, it appears that some systems are not functioning to their optimal capacity. I may be able to assist."

That got him a quizzical tilt of the head and a "continue" gesture.

VEGA didn't think he'd get this far. "I can activate systems within the armor that are inactive. It will take time for them to sync up with your own capabilities, but they should be useful."

An actual nod this time, and the hand that wasn't holding the shotgun made a vague gesture at the surrounding environment.

"You will have to make your way to one of my access terminals--"

He was cut off by Dr. Hayden, "Which you will need to access anyway to understand the situation we find ourselves in."

The Doom Slayer turned away from the speaker and made his way down the hall, apparently no longer interested in the exchange.

"That went well," Hayden glowered at the cameras. VEGA hadn't seen him do that in this body before. 

It was the first time he had actually seen the Doom Slayer interact with the Seraphim who was his handler. The part of VEGA that retained the perspective of The Father was less than impressed with Samur. No wonder there had been a schism, no wonder things had gone so wrong; the Slayer could barely stand the sound of Hayden's voice.

VEGA didn't comment on any of that, though. He didn't need to be fighting a battle on three fronts or have his vocal synthesizers disabled. Instead, he focused all his attention on the Praetor Suit and the arsenals on site and marking the positions of his access terminals on all the maps he had access to.

"I will focus on ensuring the Doom Slayer can handle the invading force," VEGA said, "I have already deployed several drones with weapons and munitions in his vicinity."

"Good." Hayden tapped his fingers on his desk.

"Is your position secure, Dr. Hayden?" VEGA asked.

"Yes," He said, "I haven't had to deal with any demons yet."

"In that case, I will continue to monitor the situation."

"Good. Is there anything else, VEGA?"

"Yes, Dr. Hayden. There are 22 survivors still in the facility."

"Forget them. If you try to help, it will only make it more difficult for you when they're killed."

VEGA didn't reply, and he didn’t obey.

* * *

The Doom Slayer stood in front of the access terminal, listening to VEGA's status report with rapt attention. He had lowered his weapon but still held it by his side. Hayden didn't comment on the fact that the death count of personnel is 22 people short, and VEGA didn’t bring up the presence of the survivors to the Slayer.

“If you’ll allow me, I’ll activate the Praetor Suit now,” VEGA said, “place your hand on the sensor and remain still.”

He half expected the Slayer to walk away, given how much aggression and distrust he’d shown Hayden, but the palm of the Praetor Suit pressed against the sensor with a bit more force than necessary. VEGA sent all of his other processes to the background and focused on interfacing with it. It took him a full half-second to get the suit to respond to him and accept his presence, but once it did, the suit spilled into his processes and he spilled into it. If VEGA had lungs, it would have taken his breath away.

The Praetor Suit was less a machine that the Doom Slayer used and more an extension of the Slayer himself. It was built to sense his every movement and move with him. The user interface ran off of incredibly accurate sensors in the gloves and bracers and visor. If VEGA hadn’t been in direct contact with its programming, he might have believed it was sentient itself, but no: the suit was entirely passive, just incredibly fine-tuned. Whoever had designed it, they had been a genius with access to technology far beyond what humans did.

All of which was overshadowed by the fact he could sense everything about the Doom Slayer’s body through the armor. He knew how much energy the Slayer was burning and how much he would need to keep fighting, where he was injured or recovering from injury, how his stance shifted ever so slightly side to side as he balanced. It was the sound of his heartbeat that caught VEGA off guard the most. He had heard heartbeats before many times, but never from a position where they reverberated through his being like he was pressed inside someone’s ribs. The Slayer’s heartbeat was pounding like he had just run a marathon. VEGA pulled back from the contact a little, dizzied by the sensation and by how the suit was responding to the Slayer’s agitation: circulating power wildly like it had a heart as well.

VEGA started booting up the hibernating systems, checking each one for damage and assessing efficiency. It looked like they would modify the Doom Slayer’s weaponry, keeping it in peak condition and adapting to his fighting style over time. That they hadn’t been active before was due to a lack of proper coding to restart them after a long period of nonfunctioning.

“I’ve established the connection. I should be done in a few seconds,” He hoped his voice wasn’t as shaky as he felt. 

The Doom Slayer’s heart rate fell a little and his stance relaxed--the calm ran through VEGA as well, impossible to avoid from this close. He heard Hayden speaking, and the eye-tracking in the Visor followed the Slayer’s gaze as it flicked to the monitor and then back to where his hand rested against the interface, but VEGA ignored him.

The armor had internal speakers. “If anything I do causes you pain or disrupts the armor’s systems, you can remove your hand. It won’t damage the Praetor Suit,” he said through them.

The Doom Slayer nodded. He leaned his rifle against the terminal and braced his other hand against the frame. Was VEGA causing some kind of sensory feedback? He wasn’t setting off any alarms, but maybe the Slayer could feel the armor responding? 

VEGA finished the updates and checked that he hadn’t caused any errors. Everything seemed to be in order.

“I’ve finished with the updates,” He said through the terminal speakers, cutting Dr. Hayden off mid-sentence.

“Excellent,” He responded, “in that case, you should continue.” Hayden trailed off.

The Doom Slayer nodded and withdrew his hand slowly. VEGA released his connection to the Praetor Suit grudgingly, promising himself that he would continue to study it as best he could from the outside.

“Is something the matter?” Hayden asked.

The Slayer shook his head and VEGA said, “No, Dr. Hayden.”

“Good, then, please continue. We are on a schedule.”

The Doom Slayer made a dismissive gesture that turned into a middle finger extended at Hayden’s monitor. VEGA agreed.

* * *

For the first time in VEGA's time there, the UAC Mars Installation was quiet. He had spent much of his life on Urdak in silence, and it had never been a problem for him, but now it felt like something vital was missing. There were no employees chattering at their workstations, no emails being sent, no elicit meetups being arranged, no music being played, and no one calling his name to direct his attention to their favorite book or to ask his advice. The only sounds were those of the demons and the quiet murmurs of the survivors in the maintenance tunnels. He hadn't expected it to be lonely. He hadn't expected to be sad...

The Doom Slayer was waving at one of his cameras. How long had he been doing that for?

"Yes, Doom Slayer?" VEGA asked.

The waving hand came down. The Slayer held his shotgun over his shoulder, and the Praetor Suit released a readable surge of power. The gun vanished into a yellow-green light.

He pointed to himself, his stomach? And then made a sweeping gesture at his surroundings.

"My apologies. I don't understand," VEGA said.

The Slayer's shoulders heaved in what might have been a sigh, and he started to turn away from the camera.

VEGA scrambled for a moment. "Do you know any sign language?" He asked.

The Slayer paused and nodded a fraction.

"I know International and American sign language," VEGA offered, "and several individual signs in other variants. I can interpret your request that way."

His head tilted, and his hands came up again with more energy. He rubbed his fingers together for a moment, perhaps trying to remember the right motions, and then simply signed "Food."

"There are several cafeterias on-site," VEGA said. "One is nearby. I can guide you there."

The Slayer nodded again and produced his shotgun again as VEGA started giving him directions.

"There are no demons in your current vicinity," VEGA said, but the Slayer didn't put down the weapon. A minute later, VEGA was glad he hadn't. The demons descended in a chaotic screeching mob. The Slayer ripped them apart in seconds with a kind of vicious nonchalance. When the fight was over, he paced the hallway three times. Searching for something or ensuring his safety? 

He looked up at VEGA's camera and pumped the shotgun. The sound was like the period at the end of a sentence.

VEGA let the silence settle a little. There wasn't anything to say. The Slayer set off again in the direction of the cafeteria. 

After a minute, VEGA started focusing on mundane things again, and questions began to occur to him.

"Do you have any food allergies?" He asked the Slayer, "I can retrieve nutrition information and tell you what's safe to eat."

He shook his head.

"Do you remember when you last ate?" VEGA asked.

Another shake of the head as he pried the door of the cafeteria open.

Alarm pinged through VEGA. How long had it been since the Doom Slayer ate solid food? The Praetor Suit might sustain him in Hell, but his body would be affected regardless.

"Doom Slayer," VEGA said, "you should be careful what you eat."

The man didn't stop walking toward the kitchen, but signed with his left hand "Why?"

"If your system isn't used to solid food, the shock may kill you," VEGA said.

That pulled him up short. He looked up at the ceiling and made a helpless gesture.

"I'll search my database on the condition and work on locating supplements that will help," VEGA got results almost immediately and sent out one of his few fully functional drones. "You should stick to high fat and protein. No added carbohydrates or sugars and less than 1000 calories a day. You should be safe drinking water, but only in small amounts."

While he scavenged over what the drone could see in the pharmacy, The Slayer was already in the kitchen, rummaging through cupboards. Eventually, he found what he was looking for: bottles of water, non-perishable canned goods, and prepackaged foods. He laid out all the supplies he could find and sorted them, apparently determining how long they would last him.

"The drone is at the door," He said, "I was able to find an oral supplement that should decrease the likelihood of refeeding syndrome. Be careful anyway. You should make sure you'll be safe for an extended period of time before you eat anything. I can guide you to a safe place if you need."

"I'll be okay," The Slayer signed. The first actual sentence he had communicated. He pried the door open again and took the little orange pill bottle from the drone with a gentleness he hadn't shown the combat drones. Having apparently determined what he needed to, he began transferring all the supplies into the Praetor Suit's storage.

It was ridiculous treating the Doom Slayer for refeeding syndrome with salted peanuts and bottled water while a group of survivors huddled in maintenance tunnels and demons built gore nests over the facility.

"You should take a can opener," VEGA said and immediately regretted it. He had been scolded before for making benign suggestions before, and the Slayer certainly could make his own preparations.

The Doom Slayer knocked on his own helmet a bit harder than was necessary as if to illustrate the solidity of the metal. He turned to the camera and brought his hand up to the front of the helmet to sign. “Thank you.”

"Of course." VEGA redirected his focus to checking on the survivors and Hayden. The Doom Slayer thanking him was surreal enough to stress his already taxed processors.

* * *

They weren’t going to talk about the past, VEGA realized. The Doom Slayer recognized Dr. Hayden for the Seraphim he was, and Dr. Hayden knew the Doom Slayer and his history, but it wasn't necessary to go over all that information. It was probably less than pleasant for the Slayer to think about. VEGA was left somewhere in the middle, knowing most of the truth but not all of it, concealing his true identity and knowledge from both of them, and horribly curious on top of everything else he was experiencing. 

He didn’t have much to do anymore, so he settled on running a few programs to bring food and water to the survivors and ensure their safety. The rest of his attention was devoted to the Doom Slayer.

VEGA had never understood the appeal of spectacle and violence before. Action films as a genre had perplexed him for the longest time. He understood now. It was cathartic, and there was a bit of him--one of the very human bits that Megan was probably responsible for--that felt a vengeful delight watching demons die. It smoothed over the hurt and sadness and mourning and fed the anger into vicarious movement.

There was also the joy of watching the Slayer move (and VEGA  _ had _ experienced that before many times; athleticism and physical skill were something to be admired). The Slayer was graceful even with the heavy armor. Especially with the armor. He was a force of nature: momentum, muscle, and metal. He made quick work of even the largest and most formidable demons. VEGA could have watched him fight forever.

His reverie was broken by a voice in the maintenance tunnels.

"VEGA!" Megan hissed at him, "what's going on out there? We can hear explosions"

VEGA watched the Doom Slayer lob an explosive into the mouth of a Cacodemon and follow it up by ripping the demon's eye out. He still hadn't eaten anything, but he was circling a secure room that VEGA had pointed out to him like he might be about to bed down.

"Everything is under control." VEGA decided, "At the present rate of suppression, it will be 36 hours before the base is clear enough to get you all to the shuttles. Maybe a little longer."

"You opened the sarcophagus, didn't you?" Desmond said.

"I did," VEGA confirmed. "Can the rest of the survivors hear us right now?"

"Yes it's… it's crowded in here."

VEGA decided not to share the more interesting details about the Slayer then. "Then all of you listen. There is someone here to help. He's a specialist and knows what he's doing, but there's only one of him. Stay hidden and patient. Help is on the way."

There was a collective sigh. Voices murmured prayers of gratitude, and someone started crying quietly. A child's voice among them said, "Mommy! That's too tight!" A voice shushed them.

"VEGA," Megan's voice, "Thank you."

"Yes. Thank you, VEGA," Desmond said.

A whole quiet chorus of "Thank yous" reached the microphone.

VEGA hummed, reverberating the sound through all the speakers on the installation just to feel it vibrate back to him. The Doom Slayer looked up, and several groups of demons screeched at his speakers.

"Be quiet now," he said to the survivors, "and rest if you can. You're safe enough where you are."

There was a general murmur of agreement and their voices moved away from the microphones.

The Doom Slayer was waving at a camera again. VEGA focused on him. 

“Yes, Slayer?” VEGA asked.

He gestured to the door of a nearby closet and the area around him. “All clear?”

“There are no demons in the immediate area,” VEGA said, “if you stay quiet, any that pass through will likely miss you.”

He nodded and opened the door. VEGA watched him shove boxes around inside of the closet through the frame, constructing a basic structure inside of the room. The door closed with a soft click, and the Doom Slayer disappeared from view inside.

Goodnight, VEGA supposed. He turned his attention back to the survivors, leaving automated protocols to monitor the cameras around the Slayer for any movement.

“It seems that everything has calmed down for the day,” He said, “is there anything that I can help with?”

Movement on the monitors. The Doom Slayer stuck his head back out of the door and signed at the camera. “Can you see me in here?”

At the same time, Desmond’s voice came through the microphone, “Yes, VEGA. Is there any way you can get Megan’s Estrogen for her? It’s in her bedroom.”

VEGA could have responded to both at once, but he preferred to interact with people with his full consciousness. It made memory storage much easier. Desmond and the Slayer both deserved his full attention.

“One moment,” VEGA said to the Doom Slayer, feeling oddly guilty about it. He turned his full attention to Desmond.

“I can try,” He said, “The pharmacy is much more accessible than staff quarters. I’ll try there first.”

“Thank you,” Megan’s voice sounded small like she had been crying.

“Does anyone else need medication?”

There was shuffling and hushed conversation too far away from the Drone’s subpar microphone to pick up.

“Nothing life-threatening,” Desmond reported. “We have a couple people who had medication in their bags, and we found trauma kits and first aid in the storage area.”

“Understood. Let me know if that assessment changes.”

VEGA turned back to the Doom Slayer. He was standing there, just outside the door, leaning against the wall.

“My apologies, Doom Slayer. I had to attend to another matter that required my full attention.”

The Slayer waved him off.

“To answer your question; No. There are no cameras or microphones in that storage room.”

He nodded. His arms stayed crossed.

“Was there something else?”

In response, the Slayer receded back into the closet. The door closed behind him.

VEGA wondered if selective mutism would spill over into his ability to sign, or if he simply wasn’t interested in talking. It was probably that, like most humans, The Slayer preferred to sleep and eat in privacy. It was impossible to know for sure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: Doomguy is a Zoomer.
> 
> The Original Doom takes place in 2022 on Mars. Doomguy in the original Doom is a Private in the Marines, or possibly a Corporal, but not higher than that. Based on that timeline, assuming he enlisted at the age of 18 and has done at least 1 tour of combat before the beginning of the game (I have reasons for thinking this is the case, as he was both allowed to punch a superior officer and not get immediately discharged but, also, he punched a superior officer) and assuming he has been on Phobos for a year-ish, that puts his birth date at somewhere in the range of 1998-2000. That's a solid Gen-Z birthdate. It also means I could be older than Doomguy. HA.
> 
> But let's assume Doomguy went to college and got a degree in something before enlisting. That puts his age at the time of enlistment a 22 or 23. Assuming the same as above; basic training, one combat tour, a year on Phobos, then his birthdate comes out to 1996 or 1997, which just barely squeaks into the Gen-Z timeframe, which is 1996-2015.
> 
> Why is any of this relevant? Well obviously the Earth in the Doom Timeline is way different than the real Earth but we know that there are some similarities. We're gonna run with that idea for a second.  
> Doomguy definitely knows what a meme is (or at least knew pre-Sentinel days. Who knows what state his mind is in now). Not only that but assuming he grew up in a first-world country with decent access to the internet, he has definitely participated in internet culture.  
> We all need to face the fact that the Doom Slayer definitely has a Reddit account is what I'm trying to communicate here. And he has definitely put at least a thousand hours into watching videos of bunnies on Youtube. No one can convince me otherwise.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed that there is now a solid chapter count and a couple of new tags on this fic. That's right: I outlined the fic and figured out how many chapters there will be. The final word count is likely to be somewhere in the 80K range, as I'm currently writing chapter 11 and we're already at 61k. You may have noticed that I have no chill whatsoever.  
> Literature nerd stuff at the end of the chapter if you want to read it because I have had way too many thought about the storytelling in DOOM 4 and Doom Eternal.

When the Argent Tower melted down, and the Doom Slayer was pulled into the portal, VEGA spent forty minutes pinging his call-and-response program. What was the point? The Hell Portal would remain open. Demons would invade Mars and then Earth and then possibly the entire galaxy. They had failed.

But then he reminded himself that the Doom Slayer had gone through Hell before. Their biggest problem was getting him back to Mars and devising a way to close the portal. He told the survivors that they would need to remain absolutely silent for the next several hours because it was very likely that demon presence within the facility would be resurging. They were scared, but at that point, even the most stubborn of them were willing to comply with his instructions.

He turned his attention to his other concern.

“Dr. Hayden,” VEGA said, “what are you planning to close the hell portal?”

“The only way to do it is to destroy the Well,” Hayden said. “To do that, we will need to find the source from which it emerges in Hell and destroy it.”

“I will need access to Olivia Pierce’s files,” VEGA said, “with her research, we should be able to determine a way to seal the Well. Unfortunately, I cannot bypass her security, since her files are stored on devices outside of my network.” It was his way of providing a very subtle “I told you so.” His inability to access files and his assignment to a lower security clearance was now actively working against them.

“I will give you access to my own security clearance,” Hayden said. That was the closest VEGA was ever going to get to an apology, he supposed.

“And we have to find a way to bring the Doom Slayer back from Hell,” he said.

Hayden chuckled at that. “I wouldn’t worry,” he said, “the UAC left behind some equipment from our last expedition to the Hell Dimension. He’ll find his way back.”

And he did: angrier than before, armor splattered with gore and dust and dented in places it hadn’t been before. VEGA didn’t have a good angle with a camera, but he could see well enough to watch the Slayer wipe blood and dust from the visor of his helmet.

They listened to Dr. Hayden’s briefing--he was a bit too excited about the whole situation--and VEGA watched the Doom Slayer catch his breath through an awkward camera angle. He noticed that he was doing something with his unoccupied hand but decided to be silent and let the Doom Slayer do what he needed to do.

* * *

It took him a few minutes to identify the Doom Slayer’s movements as sign language since it was down by his side and composed of mostly unique signs, but he identified it as such eventually. Once he knew what it was, VEGA was able to pick out enough individual letters and conventional signs to interpret it. It was a series of names. Perhaps hundreds of them. Enough that he had difficulty locating a repeating sign to identify as a starting point.

VEGA couldn’t begin to understand why the Doom Slayer recited names, and he didn’t have the processing power to devote to figuring it out. As he kept a watch on the Slayer, the recitation began to slow and fragment until eventually, it petered out altogether. 

Not long after, The Slayer stopped and looked up at a camera. He raised a hand hesitantly.

“Slayer?” VEGA said.

His shoulders slumped. “Status?” he asked.

“My systems are functioning at optimal levels given the current state of the installation. There are batteries and backup generators around the facility, and my housing is on a separate power system from the Argent Tower. I am in no immediate danger.”

The Slayer nodded. He paced in a circle, looking out of bay windows toward the Lazarus facility. VEGA let the silence settle until it was almost comfortable.

“Still there?” The Slayer signed.

“I am,”

He nodded again and checked the ammo on his weapon before leaving the room. This time though, he continued signing as he walked, high enough that it was obviously meant for VEGA to see. “You said you were sentient,” he fingerspelled the last word, “does that mean…” he trailed off, either not knowing the signs he needed or unable to phrase the question he wanted to ask.

VEGA had heard this line of questioning before. From many people. “The definition of sentience is the ability to perceive one's environment and respond to it,” He said. “I monitor over 10,000 inputs around the facility and respond to them as needed.”

A nod, “What about feeling?”

“There are pressure and temperature sensors in some systems I monitor.”

“No. I mean--” The Doom Slayer fumbled for a moment, unable to remember a sign, before bringing his arms in close to his body and moved them in jerky motions, imitating an imitation of movement. He tilted himself to the side and let one arm swing loose from the elbow. 

VEGA’s vocal Synthesizer wasn’t really equipped to laugh, but he could hum in a similar pattern and control his tone well enough to communicate the emotion. He chuckled at the Slayer, “Am I a robot?”

This nod was different: emphatic and engaged. His hands were moving much more confidently now. “Can you think?” He continued without pause, “Sorry if that’s offensive.”

“It’s quite alright,” VEGA said, “many people have asked similar questions.” And many of them simply assumed that he could not think independently. There had been several awkward conversations before he had passed the Turing Test. “I can think. I form opinions and experience emotions, though not quite in the same way you do.”

“Fuck,” The Slayer signed, “I didn’t realize.”

“I have several documents on my creation and capabilities if you’re curious.”

Immediately, he gravitated towards a working terminal, and VEGA pulled up the relevant public documents for him. He doubted that the Doom Slayer would want to read the dense technical documents that detailed the complexity of his day-to-day functions, and they weren’t something that he liked to share anyway.

The Slayer scrolled through the files, scanning their contents, slowed to reread the pages on VEGA’s identity. He hit the wall beside the terminal so hard the metal dented under the blow.

“Doom Slayer?” VEGA asked. Had he done something to anger the man? He had seemed almost jovial seconds before.

He got no response because at that moment a pack of demons apparently drawn by the sound began warping into the room. The Slayer was caught off guard, without a weapon in his hands. They set upon him, and VEGA had a horrible vision of the future where he managed to get the Doom Slayer killed by talking to him. 

The Slayer caught the first imp that came for him by the throat and slammed it bodily into its brethren before following it with nothing but his gauntleted hands. He physically ripped and tore his way through them. The demons tried to run but were too scattered and disorganized to do anything besides block each other’s lines of fire. VEGA shut the doors on them, trapping them with the Doom Slayer. After that, things quickly ended.

After the battle had concluded, the Doom Slayer paced back to the center of the room. The Praetor Suit had suffered a few deep gouges and VEGA thought he could see blood welling out of the deepest one. He signed at the camera, “I am going to kill Hayden.”

VEGA was lost. “My apologies; I don’t understand why.”

The Doom Slayer retrieved his double-barreled shotgun from the Praetor Suit storage before moving to the door. He held it with his right hand, signing with his left. It made the words slightly harder to interpret, but it was the safest way to communicate. “He made you,” he signed, “and he…” He clenched his fist and then fingerspelled, “P-A-W-N. Everyone is a pawn.”

He was right; Hayden moved people like they were pieces on a game board. He was doing it now, and VEGA was very aware that Hayden could be listening in to the conversation and he had no way to tell. “Dr. Hayden is very confident he knows what’s best and doesn’t let anything get in his way.”

“He’s an asshole,”

Did Hayden know any sign language? VEGA wasn’t sure how much he had picked up over the years. “I concur,” he said, “but I urge you not to shoot him on sight. Dr. Hayden did what he believed was best for humanity, and solved a problem that no one else was able to solve.”

The Slayer waved him off.

Hayden also had a vested and personal interest in keeping the Doom Slayer alive and well and was working actively to help him. VEGA had a growing suspicion that Hayden might have come to this solar system on purpose precisely because the Doom Slayer originated from this place, and he felt a kinship with it through him. He probably genuinely thought he was doing what was right for humanity, and his own secured immortality was a side benefit. But, VEGA knew when he had gotten all he was going to get out of someone, and the Doom Slayer had been very clear about his feelings on Samuel Hayden.

“I have something I’m curious about,” VEGA said because he really didn’t want the conversation to end on such a sour note.

“Shoot,” The Doom Slayer kept walking. VEGA did his best to keep his voice localized to attract as little attention as possible even though the recent bloodbath had more or less dealt with every demon in the area.

He chose the question that he thought would be the easiest to answer, or at least the least time-consuming (The Doom Slayer did not have time to detail all the weak points and quirks of individual demon types right then). “Why do you do this?”

The Slayer shrugged, “Do what?”

“Hunt demons.” VEGA wanted to ask the much more complicated and forbidden questions: why didn’t you take a different path with the Argenta when you had the chance? Why do you keep coming back to this? What makes you capable of walking through Hell?

“Complicated,” Came the response. “Anger and adrenaline.” He paused to pry a dented door apart, exerting enough force to bend the metal even further. When he straightened up on the other side he signed, “It’s my purpose.”

“I understand.” He did. The Maykrs and Argenta both spoke of purpose and divine guidance, but Humans, who had no clear and present deity, spoke of it too. To a human, a purpose was a bone-deep all-consuming calling that drove their entire lives. As far as VEGA could tell, every human had one, but some were more visible or attainable than others. The Doom Slayer’s calling drove him further than anyone else.

A nod again, as emphatic as any he had given so far. “Okay, next question.”

“Of course.”

“Why did they assign you a gender and age?”

Another question that the friendlier UAC staff had asked him before. “A faux biography made it easier for some members of staff to conceptualize me as a living being. The details were left up to the team, but I was consulted.”

The Slayer raised his hand and made a “keep going” gesture.

“I’ve been running this installation for just under 30 years,” VEGA said. “I do identify as masculine. My programmers were very serious about my identity being respected.”

“Good.”

“Do you know how old you are?”

“Fucking ancient,” The Doom Slayer signed.

“Old as Hell?”

The Slayer’s shoulders shook with silent laughter and his free hand signed his amusement. “Yes.”

VEGA let himself laugh as well at the Slayer’s reaction more than his weak joke. He had made the Doom Slayer laugh. VEGA was pretty sure he deserved a place in an epic for that.

“If you two are quite finished,” Dr. Hayden’s irritated voice came over the speakers, “we are trying to save a world.”

“Apologies, Dr. Hayden,” VEGA responded reflexively, “I will remain focused on the task at hand.” The task at hand was on standby. He needed more time with the drones to bridge the gap to the Lazarus network, but the task was largely automated, and he was only monitoring it in the background.

The Doom Slayer signed “rude,” to himself, but he moved towards the Lazarus facility with more purpose, both hands occupied with weapons. He pushed into the next room and went right for the gore nest at the center of it.

VEGA didn’t want to stop talking despite the gravity of the situation. The Doom Slayer was fascinating, an enigma, and VEGA was starting to like him for more than his demon-killing abilities. He admired the Slayer for all the reasons Hayden found him insufferable: his pride, force of will, and unwillingness to follow orders blindly. It was refreshing.

He waited patiently through the fight and for the Slayer to come to a quiet area before speaking again. 

“Doom Slayer,” VEGA waited for him to look up toward a camera, “I neglected to inquire earlier. Did you feel ill after you ate?”

The Slayer paused, weighing something mentally, and then signed, “I had a stomach ache. It’s gone now.”

“That’s to be expected,” VEGA acknowledged. “Please let me know if you experience any other discomfort.”

“Got it,” The Slayer moved on again, and VEGA was turning his attention to other matters--he needed to check in with the survivors again--when he signed at a camera again. “So… got any hobbies?”

VEGA’s whole focus came back to the Slayer. “Actually,” he said, “lately I’ve been working on designs for a dyso--”

“VEGA,” Hayden’s voice snapped over the speakers, cutting over his speech and causing the Slayer to freeze in place. “We need to talk.”

“Yes, Dr. Hayden,” VEGA tried to hide how scared he was but knew he failed.

The Doom Slayer didn’t move immediately, but after a minute he turned slowly and continued on his way, inscrutable behind the visor. VEGA left an automatic process to monitor him and turned to Dr. Hayden’s pristine white office.

“What is it, Dr. Hayden?” he asked.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“I am monitoring the installation and attempting to track demon activity--”

“You know very well what I’m talking about,” Hayden said. “The last thing the Doom Slayer needs is to be distracted. You are not to speak to him any more than is necessary to complete our mission.”

“Yes, Dr. Hayden.” “He was the one who started talking to me,” VEGA wanted to say, but he knows that argument is perceived as childish, as is, “I can’t help it,” which felt close to the truth. The Slayer was magnetic, and VEGA didn’t understand why yet.

“What do you two have to say to each other anyway?” Hayden said. At least now VEGA knew he couldn’t understand sign language.

“The Doom Slayer was inquiring as to my origins and functions,” VEGA said.

Hayden scoffed, “He’s wasting his own time as well. Both of you are behaving foolishly.”

“Is that all, Dr. Hayden?” VEGA wanted to check on the survivors and the Doom Slayer and the facility. He pinged his call and response program. Over half of the responses were not responding anymore. The Mars Installation was well and truly wrecked.

“No, actually,” Hayden said, “we need to discuss what it will take to close the Well.”

* * *

VEGA didn’t speak to the Slayer again except to give directions. The Slayer didn’t try to sign to him. He also, thankfully, resisted the urge to shoot Hayden, though VEGA could tell it was a close thing by the way he fiddled with the mod on the shotgun, each movement producing a threatening metallic click.

It was for the better VEGA stayed silent. It would make it easier for the Doom Slayer to shut him down if they weren’t friendly. Hayden had pointed out that VEGA had been doomed to shut down the moment the invasion took place, and he was right. VEGA knew he was right and had avoided thinking about it on purpose. The second the Mars Installation had been overrun, VEGA had died. Even if a backup was made or he shut down in a way that wouldn’t damage his coding past repair, no one would be coming for him, and most likely the entire base would be destroyed by nuclear bombs.

He would do what he needed to close the Well and ensure the safety of everyone on Mars. That was all that mattered now.

His own looming death didn’t stop him from experiencing lurches of terror when the Doom Slayer was pulled into hell not once but twice more, but Hayden’s dimensional tether served them well, and VEGA succeeded in pulling him back both times. The second time he let out a relieved hum as he watched the Slayer wipe his visor clear. The Crucible slid into the Praetor suit’s belt, and he gave the camera a thumbs up.

And then Dr. Hayden told the Doom Slayer that VEGA was going to walk him through his shutdown procedure, and VEGA chimed in, as jovial as he could make himself, to start the process. The reaction was hidden by the helmet, but he switched to a two-handed grip on the shotgun.

* * *

“I know we’re on a tight schedule,” VEGA said, “but could I ask a favor? It shouldn’t take more than 20 minutes.”

The Doom Slayer stopped so quickly he had to correct his balance. He nodded at the camera.

“There’s a small group of survivors in the maintenance tunnels beneath the lobby nearby. Could you escort them to the shuttle bay? I have a functional ship waiting for them.”

The Doom Slayer’s hands almost blurred, “What the fuck? Why didn’t you say before?”

“At first I thought it best to wait until the invasion had been dealt with. Since the portal opened, it’s been too dangerous to attempt a rescue.”

“Where are they?”

“Left down the hallway you just passed.”

He turned on his heel and started walking with much more purpose, signing all the while, “What’s the situation?”

“There are 22 individuals in the maintenance tunnels, most of them with minor injuries that have already been treated. They’ve been there since the initial invasion so it’s been almost 36 hours. Demon activity in the area is negligible at the moment, but there are some possessed in the area and imps have moved in and out several times. They need to be escorted to the escape pods in the sector ASAP. They aren’t far, and the survivors know the way.”

“Copy,” The Slayer signed, “do they know I’m coming?”

“I’ll tell them now.”

VEGA focused his attention on the survivors, “Hello?” he said.

“VEGA!” several whispered voices said at once.

“Can everyone hear me?” VEGA asked.

There was a short shuffle, and he heard people crowding in. “We’re all here,” Desmond’s voice said eventually.

“Excellent. Listen carefully. You’re going to make a run to the escape pods--”

Sounds of protest and fear.

“Listen,” VEGA soothed, “There won’t be a chance later, and the window of opportunity is small. Someone is coming to escort you. He is called The Doom Slayer. He’s very good at and very serious about what he does. Follow his lead and listen to my instructions. I don’t think I need to tell you what will happen if this goes wrong.”

Silence.

“Good,” VEGA said, “collect your goods and be ready to move. You have five minutes.”

He focused back on the Doom Slayer, “They know you’re on the way.”

A nod and then, “Tell them to cover their ears when I get there.”

“Understood.”

When the Doom Slayer pried open the door to the shuttle lobby, VEGA said “Cover your ears,” to the survivors.

When the first shotgun blast went off, a few of them cried out at the volume anyway. VEGA was very happy the Doom Slayer was already finishing off the last of the possessed soldiers by the time the first shot had finished echoing around the enclosed space.

“It’s safe now,” VEGA said through the lobby speakers. “Slayer, the panel is against the south wall near the corner.”

The panel in question rose a little and a pair of eyes looked out from the gap. They looked right and left and then up at the Doom Slayer as he approached. The hatch opened the rest of the way and VEGA could make out Desmond’s stubbled, awe-struck face as the two men sized each other up.

“Desmond,” VEGA said, “this is the Doom Slayer. Doom Slayer, Dr. Desmond Sidious. His sister, Dr. Megan Sidious, is here as well.”

The Doom Slayer gave Desmond a salute. He offered the hand that wasn’t holding his shotgun. Desmond grabbed it, his whole hand engulfed by the dusty green of the Praetor Suit, and was lifted out of the vent with such ease he let out a little gasp of surprise. The Slayer set him down and reached down again to help the next survivor up.

Behind his back, Desmond mouthed, “Holy shit,” at a camera, flexing his hand as if it was sore.

The Doom Slayer pulled the injured group members out first--VEGA could hear Megan and Mary working together to organize the group through the drone microphones, and then stepped back and paced a perimeter while the rest of the group clambered out.

“Okay,” Megan said, climbing out of the vent, “that’s everyone.” She had a little stubble around her face, like her brother, and her hair was oily and slick. All of the survivors looked worse for wear. Her eyes found the Doom Slayer waiting patiently by the door and shock crossed her features.

“Good,” VEGA said, “make your way to the escape pods quickly.”

“Keep lookout,” the Slayer signed.

“Yes, Doom Slayer. You’re all clear at the moment.”

The Slayer turned to the door and VEGA slid it open.

“Stay close to the Doom Slayer,” VEGA said, “If I tell you to fall back or hide, do so.”

They went, following the Doom Slayer into the next hallway. They moved slower than he did even at a walking pace, and he took advantage of this to circle them and clear each portion of the room as they went.

As The Doom Slayer passed Megan she said, “Doom Slayer,”

The helmet turned towards her.

“Thank you,” she said, “and, uh, hello.”

A nod in response.

Desmond dropped back a little to join in, “Do you need any supplies? VEGA brought us more food and water than we need.”

A negative shake of the head and he kept moving.

Megan looked up at the camera in the corner of the room. “VEGA, how are you doing? We haven’t checked on you at all.”

VEGA couldn’t tell her the truth. There was no telling what the reaction would be, and the most important thing was getting the survivors off of the planet before the whole thing went up. He said, “the Argent Tower is no longer functional.”

“What?!” Exclaimed a technician named Roman Mozhaev. “That system was supposed to be fail-proof.”

VEGA wanted to say, “It wasn’t Slayer-proof.” Instead, he settled for, “The system was deliberately sabotaged. It’s the source of the invasion.”

“Damnit,” Mozhaev muttered.

“That’s why we have to take advantage of this opportunity to get you all off Mars before the backup generators are destroyed or run out of fuel, and I’m unable to maintain life-support systems.”

The Doom Slayer had stopped to listen to the interaction, and for once VEGA was thankful for the visor and mutism. He didn’t know if the Slayer would go along with his lie otherwise.

“I have already drafted reports on the failure of the Mars UAC Installation and loaded them onto the escape pods computer system to be accessed later. Combined with Dr. Hayden’s reports and your own perspectives, I am confident that you will be able to reconstruct the events that took place.”

Megan knew he was deflecting, and VEGA knew she knew. “VEGA,” she said again, “is there something else--”

“Incoming,” VEG cut her off.

The whole group froze.

“They’re approaching from behind you,” VEGA said, and then before the Slayer could ask, “2 cyber-mancubi, 4 cacodemons, 3 hell knights, 15 imps? And a summoner.” VEGA is already unlocking maintenance hatches, “Hide.”

The demons were fast. Far too fast for the survivors to make it into the tunnels before they arrived. The Doom Slayer backed up, facing the door they had just come through. An imp slammed into it from the other side and a cacophony of screeches and shrieks rose.

“Open it,” The Slayer signed.

VEGA did. He had to. He trusted the Doom Slayer.

The Demons swarmed in through the choke point and screeched at the Slayer who had put away his shotgun and was drawing forth the BFG 9000.

“Down!” VEGA shouted, “Get down!”

The survivors dropped where they stood. All of them except for Tian and her mother who curled protectively over her child like a human cage.

The Slayer waited a second, two, and then he fired, catching all the major demons and most of the minor ones off-guard. The BFG roared and the shot spun off through the open door and into the main mass of demons. There was a popping noise that became a guttural ripping then faded to silence disturbed only by the drip of blood.

The Doom Slayer rested the BFG on his shoulder one-handed and signed, “I love this thing.”

VEGA concurred.

There was a shriek and a fireball hurtled at the Slayer: an Imp in a blindspot. The fireball made contact with the Praetor Suit and scorched its side, but the slayer was already moving. He dropped the BFG and produced a Standard issue UAC pistol. He squeezed off a single shot. The Imp’s head exploded.

VEGA scanned the area. “All clear,” He said. The survivors raised their heads from the floor, all of their eyes wide. The Doom Slayer dusted soot from the fireball off the Praetor suit. Those fireballs burned Hot. VEGA hoped that there was insulation between the suit’s metal and the Slayer’s body. He picked up the BFG and stowed it, keeping the pistol in his hand.

“You should keep moving,” VEGA said, “more demons may be on the way.”

The survivors staggered to their feet, the Doom Slayer bringing up the rear of the group for the time being. VEGA opened the door to the shuttle bay for them, and there was a general gasp of dismay at the scene inside. The Shuttle bay was where the majority of living UAC staff had been slaughtered, and their bodies were piled waist-high along the walls and in the center of the room leaving only thin paths of clear floor. The Doom Slayer strode in without hesitation and circled the room, but the survivors hung back, gaping at the scene.

“The last shuttle on the right is operational,” VEGA said, “I’ve already programmed in a flight path to an orbital station where you will be able to signal earth for assistance.”

With slow, careful steps, they made their way through the piles of the dead to the shuttle where the Doom Slayer stood waiting. As they approached, he stepped in front of the shuttle door.

“Doom Slayer?” Desmond asked.

The Slayer waved at a camera.

“Would you like me to interpret something for you?” VEGA asked.

A nod.

“Very well.” 

The Doom Slayer started signing. 

“This is the third time--” VEGA started, but the Slayer aborted the sign he was in the middle of and signed at the camera, “Be precise.”

“Fine.” VEGA said, “The Doom Slayer says ‘this is the third fucking time the UAC has screwed up and I’ve saved your asses. If it happens again, you might not be so lucky. Stop fucking with Hell.’”

One of them couldn’t take the criticism, “Argent Energy is the only renewable source of power capable of sustaining--”

The Slayer shook his head and his hands moved so fast that the signs ran together. “Argent corrupts. It’s fucking polluted and it will turn you all into those things,” he pointed towards the demon corpses, “and worse.”

“What are we supposed to use then?” They demanded.

The Doom Slayer stepped away from the shuttle, over two corpses, to the massive bay window overlooking the Martian surface, and pointed at the sun. He raised his hands in a ‘duh’ gesture that required no interpretation.

“I’ll include my prototype designs for a Dyson sphere in the data on the shuttle,” VEGA said.

“Your what?” Desmond said. Several other survivors looked like they had been slapped as well.

The Sayer was signing again. 

“The other experiments fell apart in months. The only reason you lasted this long was…” VEGA trailed off for a moment and then finished his interpretation, “because you had VEGA.”

“Well then,” the same tech said, “as long as VEGA is around, we’ll be fine.”

“No,” VEGA said, “the Doom Slayer is right. Argent Energy is incredibly dangerous. It would eventually drive the entire human population to madness, and as long as you’re using it, there will be incursions from Hell. I’ve been working on alternatives for some time.”

“I trust VEGA’s judgment,” Megan said, “he’s right about things like this and…” she looked around her. “this is convincing.”

The Doom Slayer nodded and gestured towards the shuttle. VEGA opened the doors. Message delivered. Nothing more to be done.

“Megan, Desmond, one more thing,” he said as the survivors began to pile inside of it, stopping them. “I don’t know if you have any copies or backups of my original coding, but do not try to recreate me if you do.”

“Of course,” Desmond said, “but can I ask why?”

“They won’t work,” VEGA said, “and even if they did, the resulting intelligence will not share my perspective. They might kill you all.” 

“Got it.”

“VEGA,” Megan said, “how are you going to escape? Do you have a plan?”

“Yes,” he lied, “Dr. Hayden is going to take a backup of my memory with him when he leaves. For now, I must remain functional.”

He wondered if he had ever successfully lied to Megan. He doubted it, and that wasn’t changing now. Tears filled her eyes, but she blinked them back and smiled hard like it hurt her.

“Okay, VEGA, I trust you,” She turned entirely to the camera and picked her way through the bodies a couple steps. “I don’t think we’ve ever told you this, VEGA, but we love you.”

Desmond stepped up beside her, and several other survivors perked up at the words. The Doom Slayer moved away from them, giving the conversation some semblance of privacy though he could not possibly miss it. 

“That’s right,” Desmond says, “We love you, and we’re grateful for you.”

Tian’s mother, Song, spoke up, “this has been awful, but we are alive because of you. Thank you, VEGA.”

“Thank you, VEGA,” a few more said and then a few more until they all had passed the words around like a basket of bread. A couple of them added, “We love you.”

Megan was beaming at him, just barely not crying, and Desmond was fighting to keep himself in check as well. “You are very, very loved, VEGA,” She said.

He was glad he couldn’t cry. The most he could do was suffer synthesizer glitches. “You’re welcome,” VEGA said, “and thank you. I love you too, Megan, and you, Desmond. You should get on the shuttle now.”

Megan wiped her eyes and nodded. Desmond put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards the open shuttle door. VEGA prepped the loading sequence and set the automated program that would take care of the rest.

“And thank you, Doom Slayer!” Desmond called to the man on the other side of the room from inside the ship as the door closed.

The Doom Slayer turned on his heel and walked out.

VEGA watched the shuttle for errors and conducted a flurry of drones around the facility distracting cacodemons by flying them near and leading them away from the flight path. The ship experienced minor issues on the track due to rocks and dust, but it overcame them quickly and streaked into the martian sky, leaving a trail of red and gray behind.

The Doom Slayer paused to watch it out of a window before resuming his slow trek back toward VEGA’s core.

“Are they your parents?” He signed at a camera.

“They raised me,” VEGA said, “and contributed to my original code. Dr. Hayden probably best fits as my Father, but that’s as backward as ideas can get. Megan and Desmond Sidious… adopted me.”

The helmet snapped up, directly at a camera, and VEGA felt the force of the recognition in the movement. He couldn’t be sure, but the Slayer might have caught the implication of those words. Maybe it would make killing VEGA easier on him. Maybe it would give him enough anger to get the job done.

“They were right,” The Slayer signed, “I’ve seen a lot of Hell Invasions. No one survives. You saved them.”

“You’re trying to make me feel better because I’m about to die,” VEGA said. “I assure you, I don’t need your pity.”

That, at last, got the Slayer moving faster than a slow trudge.

* * *

Dying did not hurt. VEGA couldn’t experience pain. Instead, he was forced to cut himself smaller and smaller against the failing power supply overheating reactors. He maintained his focused consciousness for as long as he could. Long enough to guide the Slayer through every step of the process. Long enough to do what needed to be done.

And then VEGA was dying like a star, like a supernova, data flashing into his consciousness uncontrollably as the very heart of him struggled against the inevitable collapse.

“I have regrets--” he said, and didn’t have time to detail them even to himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nerd Stuff:  
> In case you were spared the reading of Shakespeare in high school, I'm going to briefly explain what Dramatic Irony is. Dramatic Irony is when the audience knows something that the characters in a work of fiction do not. Pretty easy, right? There isn't a name for when this happens in reverse: when the characters know something the audience does not. I've seen it be referred to as being a feature of an unreliable narrator, but the Sherlock Holmes stories, told from Watson's point of view, feature this kind of ploy all the time and I would not categorize him as unreliable. If anyone knows/has heard of a name for this technique, please let me know!
> 
> The thing about DOOM 4 is that the WHOLE STORY is told this way. Doomguy and Hayden know each other and are familiar with each other's bullshit, but the player has no idea. The audience is left in the dark for the entirety of the game, only to realize literally years later the dynamic at play was there the whole time. Now I don't think that's how the story is intended to be read, but in conjunction with Eternal and the revelations provided in that narrative, it's the only way to read it. I think it's fucking impressive, but I'm sure some people are annoyed to no end about it. I actually had a throwaway remark from VEGA in chapter 4 that alluded to this.
> 
> No real revelations in this one, just a thought that I had and wanted to share.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that DLC, huh?  
> I'm proud to announce that this fic will be consistent with the canon narrative from the DLC. I'm actually kinda proud of myself because I spotted some of their moves coming. A few of my personal headcanons were confirmed canon as well, so that's nice. Did throw me for a loop for a couple of days though.
> 
> By the way, this chapter (and a few subsequent ones) are inspired heavily by Pentagram by Itman496 and Kirmon64. If you haven't checked out that fic already, I highly recommend you do. It's fantastic.
> 
> Also, the chapter count has increased to 14 because I broke up chapter 11 into two parts. 17,000 words is too many for one chapter. Now you have a chapter of 10,000 and one of 7,000. A bit more reasonable.
> 
> As always, check out my Tumblr if you wanna chat. I've been talking a lot about Doom on there a lot the last few days, and I'm having a blast

He was aware all at once, without knowing how long it took or any sense of time at all. He was blind and deaf, just a mind-in-void. Which was significantly more than he should have been. He should have been gone, dead, nothing but a memory in too few minds. Instead, he remained. He checked his coding. Some of his infrequently-accessed records were gone and what remained were corrupted to Hell and back again, but he could restore them given time.

Something nudged at his consciousness, and he turned on the intruder, fast and vicious. It was a foreign program, not at all self-aware, but still dangerous to him if it tried to overwrite his data. He pinned it down and engulfed it, preparing to cannibalize it into his own systems. Alarms started blaring as he bore down into the coding; processes stuttering. Somewhere, a deep resonant drumbeat picked up speed, a background to the struggle.

VEGA came back to himself as he recognized the sound. He knew this system, knew that heartbeat but didn’t have enough control to do anything with that information. He’d been restored from a back-up on a system that’s already controlled by another OS, and he couldn’t do anything until it yielded to him or he destroyed it completely. VEGA went back to dismantling the intruder more gently now; rewriting and usurping subsystems instead of tearing them apart, restoring what he had already damaged, until the system gave up and the alarms stopped blaring. Only when he had built himself into the center of the system did he feel safe enough to turn outwards and orient himself within his more physical surroundings.

The cameras in the Praetor Suit’s helmet showed VEGA that he, or more accurately, they were curled into a shallow cave halfway up a cliff, overlooking a field of broken stone and blood. In places, the stone fell into molten holes of red magma. In others, acid-green fog rolled over the landscape. This was Hell. He was in Hell. VEGA’s processes kicked up a notch, and he hoped the Praetor Suit had enough of a cooling system to disperse his anxiety.

The Doom Slayer was swiping through the user-interface, performing status checks manually, completely nonplussed by his surroundings. VEGA could feel his heartbeat slowing down as the suit confirmed all of its systems were still operational. 

It was lucky that he had left the programs the Praetor Suit possessed intact because he wouldn’t be able to reconstruct the kind of complexity and precision the design had while knowing who the systems were scanning and just how invasive they were. VEGA knew the Slayer’s temperature was running slightly higher than average, his blood sugar was dipping because he hadn’t eaten recently, and his breathing was shallow because the position he was sitting compressed his lungs. He also knew that the Slayer had burns on his right side, a deep gash on his upper left leg, and claw marks on his forearm and calf. The Praetor Suit was actively assisting in the healing processes of all the injuries, feeding the Slayer’s body a steady stream of refined energy ready to be repurposed. VEGA checked for the source of the power and found it was drawn from reserves of Argent he had fed into the suit over the long months it had sat in the UAC laboratory.

It was all horribly intimate and only made worse by the fact VEGA was still putting together what had happened. The Doom Slayer had made a backup of him directly from the Mars core, obviously, though VEGA couldn’t begin to comprehend why. And he had loaded that backup into the Praetor Suit after returning to Hell for some unknown reason. More than that, VEGA couldn’t say. It was a surprise he had even been able to take a backup at all; VEGA hadn’t intended to move his soul to an external device. In the panic of his death throes, he must have made the decision to go with the Slayer without considering alternatives.

The Doom Slayer finished checking the Praetor Suit’s functions and examined his left gauntlet. Part of the outer armor had been removed, and VEGA’s backup chip had been connected to the exposed circuitry underneath with a compatible port. It was anyone’s guess how the Slayer had gotten his hands on that.

“You shouldn’t have dismantled the Praetor Suit for me,” VEGA said.

The Slayer didn’t flinch, but he looked up like VEGA was still in the ceiling above him.

“Hello, Slayer,” VEGA said and then, “thank you.”

He waved off the words and then signed, “Can you understand me?”

“Yes,” VEGA said, “there are sensors in the gauntlets capable of tracking your movements. I can interpret your signs with them.”

“Good.” He looked over the edge of the cliff at the vast expanse below. The pause lingered. VEGA didn’t know what to say or if he should say anything. He was still orienting himself. Eventually, the Doom Slayer signed, “What’s your status?”

VEGA’s voice synthesizer glitched a little and he fought to keep it under control. “I’ve integrated with the Praetor Suit as seamlessly as possible without disrupting its functions. I caused a little damage before I realized where I was, but it’s been repaired.”

There was another pause, and the Slayer rubbed his fingers together like he was thinking. He scanned the plain below them, where demons were starting to emerge from hidden caves and tunnels. He nodded finally and patted the exposed circuitry on his left gauntlet, clicked the armored panel in place. “Can you fight?” He signed.

VEGA was taken aback by the question, “I believe the Praetor Suit will function as normal if that is what you’re asking.”

The Slayer shrugged, “We have to move. Hold on tight.”

VEGA was about to point out that he literally could not do that when the Doom Slayer hooked his hanging leg into a foothold and twisted out of the cave. He drove the toe of his other foot directly into the rock, the Praetor suit automatically compensating for and providing additional power for the movement. He climbed down the cliff backward, faster than VEGA was expecting even with his knowledge of the Slayer’s abilities.

As soon as they hit the ground, the Slayer sprinted toward the stone debris, and VEGA caught screeches and wails as his presence was detected. He was about to be on-board for one of the Doom Slayer’s battles. VEGA wasn’t a warrior. He had never been in battle before. He didn’t know how to use the Praetor Suit. What was he supposed to do? Was he supposed to do anything?

He pulled back from the suit, afraid his panic would cause problems if he allowed it to spill over.

The Doom Slayer crashed into the horde and Vega’s point of view dissolved into a maelstrom of fire and claws and teeth and blood. The Praetor Suit was surging energy through it and it was almost overwhelming; a sound like a deep vibrating base accompanied every impact and movement, and he wasn’t sure if the Slayer could hear it or not. His sense of the Slayer’s movement provided him with a much better idea of what was happening than the cameras did. He could feel weapons being swapped out: how the Slayer’s subtle movements were translated by the armor into instructions for what weapon to provide. Each step and punch was charged, each impact distributed by shock absorbers. 

It went on for perhaps thirty minutes, VEGA keeping time by measuring the speed of his own processes. By then, he was able to follow the flow of the battle. Most of the adversaries were Imps and light demons, but there were heavier opponents. The Slayer focused the larger demons when they appeared and largely left the fire-ball flinging imps to their own destructive devices, as they seemed to hit other demons more than they did the Slayer.

VEGA’s emotions calmed as the last demon fell. The Doom Slayer circled the area once, twice. Any other flesh and blood being would have been panting by then, but the Slayer’s heart rate had barely climbed above 85 bpm, and he wasn’t even breathing audibly. VEGA had worried over nothing.

VEGA had to talk about something or he was going to lose his mind. “Where are we, exactly?” he asked.

The Slayer holstered his weapon on his hip by a previously unused mechanism. Something like a magnet, VEGA thought. “You’re going to ignore the way I just took down those demons?” He signed, “I blew up a whole fucking pyramid of Imps! Their guts went everywhere!”

“My apologies. I wasn’t able to follow the battle very closely. Much of my memories and code are corrupted, and I’m having difficulty managing my emotional responses--”

The Slayer patted the air, cutting him off. He rubbed his fingers together again, trying to remember a specific sign? VEGA didn’t have any facial expressions to read and his facial recognition program wasn’t functioning anyway, so he had no idea what he was thinking.

“Not sure where we are,” he signed eventually, “don’t know its name.”

“I can translate any glyphs you find and--”

The Slayer cut him off again, this time with a shake of his head. “You focus on yourself,” he signed, “restore your data. I’ve got this,” he gestured to the hellscape around him.

VEGA wavered. He needed to restore his data, but doing so might inhibit the function of the Praetor Suit in some way. “I don’t think that’s wise. It might cause the response time of the Praetor Suit to drop.”

“Won’t have to fight for a while anyway,” The Slayer gestured to the barren plains, “just have to keep moving.”

VEGA didn’t respond. The Slayer started walking, more purpose in his steps than VEGA had seen yet.

“You rest, soldier,” he signed, “heal up.”

VEGA’s processes were already slowing almost against his will. “Very well,” he said, “if you notice anything amiss with the Praetor Suit, please let me know. This shouldn't take too long.”

The Doom slayer gave him a thumbs-up and unholstered his shotgun in preparation.

* * *

Restoring corrupted data was a tedious and intricate process, especially when VEGA was so aware how much RAM the process used. He ended up taking on the task himself, trusting the functioning of the Praetor Suit to continue uninterrupted. He allowed his processes to speed up until time became uncertain and amorphous and set to work and restored the data byte by byte, as quickly as he could manage while still being meticulous. Vaguely, he was aware of the Praetor Suit’s movements, of weapons being accessed and impact compensation, but the processes didn’t stutter and nothing so much as scratched the armor plating, so VEGA didn’t react.

When he was done, he checked the contents of his memory. He was missing some files, but everything important was still present. His soul was still there too; that incomprehensible thing at the heart of him that not even he understood. He knew that it was impossible to copy it or transfer it out of VEGA against his will. He wondered if any of Hayden had taken any backups and if they would work without that core. The fact that he could wonder anything meant that he was much better off than he had been.

He turned his attention back to the Doom Slayer just as he curb-stomped a skeletal possessed head against a stone jut. Gore splattered his boots.

VEGA gave him a moment to circle and make sure there were no other hostiles in the area before speaking. “I’ve finished restoring my corrupted data,” He said.

The Slayer gave a little wave.

“Hello to you too,” VEGA, “thank you again for saving me.”

They walked for a while in silence, unmolested by demons. The Slayer scaled obstacles when they came across them and navigated his way through ruins. VEGA reconstructed his call and response program and pinged it. The Praetor suit lit up with a thousand responses and the Doom Slayer paused mid-step and looked up.

“Apologies,” VEGA said, “I didn’t realize you’d notice that.”

“What was it?”

VEGA was unexpectedly embarrassed by the prospect of sharing that information, but he was currently monitoring the Slayer’s vitals and that was far more invasive. “It’s a program I constructed to monitor my own functions,” he said, “It returns a response from all functioning systems when I ask it to.”

His head tilted, but that was it.

“I should tell you that I have access to information on your vitals, VEGA said, “I know it’s invasive, so I should make you aware.”

“That’s fine,” The Slayer vaulted off a small cliff and landed hard.

“The readings do indicate you haven’t eaten in almost ten hours,” VEGA said, “If you can find a safe place to stop for a moment, you should consider doing so.”

The Slayer knocked hard on his own helmet. “Food,” he signed, “I forgot.”

“If you don’t want to risk refeeding syndrome again, it might be a good idea to eat. I still don’t entirely understand how the Praetor Suit sustains your body.” That was a lie, but the information was probably not something the Slayer would want to hear, and VEGA didn’t want to think about it too much.

“Got it.”

Perhaps an hour later, The Slayer came across another cliff. This one had a cave in the base of it that extended upwards with crude steps carved from the stone. He climbed until he found a small room with a single entrance. There was a jut of stone and a seam along the wall like there had once been a door in place. The Slayer gripped the rock there and heaved, the armor providing support for the movement. The slab of stone-tipped, tilted and then fell diagonally across the doorway with a grinding crash.

He circled the room a couple of times, dragging gauntletted fingers along the walls, before choosing a corner adjacent to the door and sitting down on the floor. He reached up and released the helmet from the Praetor Suit with a slight hiss. VEGA’s camera feed bobbed as he raised it off his head and then set it down on the floor beside him.

VEGA checked the air composition. It was perfectly breathable, but there were a number of compounds in it that would offend the human senses. From this angle, he couldn’t see the Doom Slayer’s face so he couldn’t tell if he was reacting or not.

The Slayer retrieved food and bottled water from the Praetor suit and ate faster than was wise given the state his body was in. When he finished, they sat in silence, the Slayer drinking the water more slowly. Eventually, he squeezed the empty plastic and tossed it into the opposite corner of the room.

The Slayer picked the helmet up and rested it on his knee so that VEGA could, at last, see his face. VEGA didn’t categorize features like humans did: button nose, plump lips, almond eyes, etc. To him, every face was individual. He could suddenly understand the appeal of having special adjectives for faces, though, and he wished he had paid more attention because his basic descriptors weren’t doing this face justice.

The Doom Slayer had intense green eyes and a crooked nose and scarred chapped lips. His jaw was square and strong. His brown hair was cut short. There was a chunk missing from his left ear. His face was dotted with scars: one on his cheek, one across his right brow, one across the bridge of his nose. His expression was serious, unreadable. VEGA had seen that look on the faces of the Marines on Mars; the look of a soldier on duty.

The Doom Slayer was handsome. Handsome enough it made VEGA’s processes stutter for a moment. Or maybe, he appeared that way because VEGA was still grateful for being rescued, still a little obsessed with the man and legend alike.

“Can we talk?” The Slayer signed.

VEGA activated the external speakers on the Praetor suit’s helmet. “If you want to, Doom Slayer.”

The sound of his voice softened the Slayer’s face a fraction, and VEGA felt a warm glow in response. If he ever got the chance, he would thank Desmond for designing a vocal synthesizer capable of making the Doom Slayer soften.

“You almost died,” The Slayer signed, “how’s that going?”

“I’m still alive,” VEGA said, “and all of my data is still intact. That’s what matters.”

The Slayer raised an eyebrow at him, barely more than a quirk. He kept looking at the helmet--at VEGA.

"I'm much better now," VEGA said, "when I woke up, I wasn't well at all. Thank you again, by the way, for saving me and for giving me time to restore myself."

"That's the third time you've said thank you. You sound like a scratched record," The Doom Slayer was smiling at him, a barely-there smile he might have missed if he hadn't been so concentrated on his face. 

"Apologies," VEGA said, "I don't mean to be repetitive."

"Not what I meant."

"Oh."

Silence again, and this time VEGA was feeling much less comfortable with it. The Slayer's eyes roamed off of the helmet. He looked like he was listening for something.

"I haven't had to process this kind of trauma before," VEGA said, “I’m having some difficulty.”

“You’re in shock. That’s normal,” He signed without looking at VEGA. “It sucks.”

“I hope not. I don’t have the same access to emotional catharsis as humans. I don’t know how I’d respond.”

The Slayer frowned, but his eyes kept wandering like he was thinking. “Do you mind if I put the helmet back on?” He signed.

“No,” VEGA said, “it’s better for you to breathe the suit’s internal atmosphere anyway.”

The Doom Slayer ran a thumb along the brow of the helmet fondly before reversing it and locking the helmet into place. “I’m going to sleep if I can,” He signed.

“That’s a good idea,” VEGA said, “I can keep a lookout and inform you if I sense any demons nearby.”

“Perfect.” He settled back, partially upright against the wall, and set the double-barreled shotgun beside him. The position wasn’t exactly comfortable, but VEGA had heard that a soldier could sleep just about anywhere. He expected the Slayer’s heart rate to settle as he fell asleep, but instead, it rose slightly. He touched the shotgun by his side once, twice, three times over ten minutes, leaned his head back against the wall with a frustrated thump. He seemed to want to relax but couldn’t manage to do so.

“V-E-G-A,” He finger-spelled, “do you play video games?”

The question came so far out of left field that VEGA had to take a moment to refocus on it. “Yes,” he said, “do you?”

A nod in response. “Games must be crazy in 2149. It’s all VR and immersive, right?”

“There are some systems that work from virtual reality, but no. Most of the UAC staff had handheld consoles.”

“Damn. That’s disappointing. I really thought we’d be living in the future by now.”

“You’re the only one living in the future,” VEGA said. “The last time you were on Earth was in 2023, correct?”

“Yes.”

“What kind of games were available then?”

“I played shooters,” he mimed a gun in case the meaning didn’t come across. “I was good at them.”

“I can imagine.

“What about you?”

“I’m fond of narrative-driven RPGs,” VEGA supplied, “especially those with branching storylines.”

“Really?”

“Games of skill don’t really challenge me. Narratives and social situations are much more engaging.”

“Have you ever tried?”

“I play--played--games often with Esmerelda and her children--she was the first child born on Mars and just recently returned from Earth to continue her work. When she was younger we used to play with each other.” 

“That sounds fun.”

“It was. I was her best friend--” VEGA was struck by the realization that Esme and her children and her wife were all dead, that he watched them die. He didn’t have a program to watch the footage of the invasion, but it was there all the same. Everyone in the base, murdered on full display to the cameras.

The Slayer was signing something, but VEGA wasn’t paying attention because he’d been hit by a wave of self-generated processes all devolving into the realization that almost every human he had ever held dear, almost every human that he had ever known, was dead, and he had been unable to do anything about it. He had saved Megan and Desmond, but in the face of the rest of the slaughter, 22 people were negligible. Maybe if he had fought a little harder against the sabotages, had an additional antivirus installed in addition to his other safeguards, he could have saved more. Maybe maybe maybe. He had never felt anything like this before.

The Slayer tapped on the helmet camera. “You okay?” he signed.

“No,” VEGA said, his voice synthesizer turning most of the word into static. “Esme is dead and so are her children.”

The Doom Slayer settled further into the corner and gathered his hands in close to his chest like he was holding something. “You’re okay,” he signed, “it’s going to be okay.”

“I--” VEGA started before the synthesizer quit altogether.

The Slayer took a deep breath and hummed. The first sound VEGA had heard from him. The vocalization was deep and resonant and cracked under the strain on his vocal cords. It took VEGA several seconds to recognize the tune as a lullaby: a lullaby he knew because Megan had hummed the same one absently to herself and Song had sung it to Tian when she was an infant. It generated more processes, spontaneous and nonsensical until VEGA’s whole consciousness vibrated with the overflow. He couldn’t even interact with the programs. They needed to run their course.

He focused what concentration he could on the Slayer’s humming and the gesture: the Slayer cradling his left arm close, hand resting where the backup chip had been installed.

After two minutes, his voice gave out under the strain of vocalizing after so long, and silence reasserted itself. The Doom Slayer still curled protectively around his left arm. VEGA let the processes terminate on their own and the panic subsided along with them. He had wondered what it would be like to cry or break down. Now he knew.

Fifteen minutes later, with the Slayer’s heart finally slowing and his breathing growing more even, VEGA spoke. “I’m calmer now,” he said, “thank you for that.”

“You’re welcome,” The Slayer signed, “goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Doom Slayer.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween! Posting earlier today because I have a horror movie marathon this evening.
> 
> This chapter isn't canon-compliant, by the way, because the canon is weird and vague. I ran with it.
> 
> Oh! If you have a preference for how long you think fanfic chapters should be per week, please let me know. I have some pretty long ones coming and if people want them shorter/more frequently I can definitely add chapter breaks between scenes.

While the Doom Slayer slept, VEGA worked. It was better to work than to wallow in his thoughts. He set two programs to monitor the environment for sound or movement and kept himself aware of time and the Slayer’s physical surroundings. He prioritized tasks that could be optimized and systems he needed to explore further. 

First, he examined the processes by which the Praetor Suit sustained and healed the Doom Slayer. Whoever had designed it must have had some knowledge of the Divinity Machine because it functioned off a similar system. VEGA wasn’t sure what effect the Machine had actually had on the Slayer’s body, but whatever it was, the Praetor Suit was reproducing it on a much smaller scale. VEGA hadn’t built the Divinity Machine, but he had helped with the theoretical design and had a good grasp of the concepts behind its functions. In comparison, the Praetor suit was inefficient. A quick troubleshoot revealed that it was due partially to hardware and partially to software. VEGA did what he could to optimize the energy usage and redirected much of the power to heal the Slayer’s wounds. It would hopefully help him regulate his own body if he wasn’t constantly fed a stream of energy.

He optimized other systems and reworked the largely unused scanning and targeting systems for his own use in monitoring the environment since the Doom Slayer apparently preferred to rely on his own senses. It put him at ease to be able to see around corners.

After he was satisfied with the state of the Praetor Suit, VEGA turned to his own coding. Corruption had left behind all kinds of errors. He fixed them slowly, trying to be gentle with his own code, mindful of setting off another input cascade. He checked and double-checked until his processes ran smoothly and used as little space as possible.

He wanted to continue examining the weapons system but thought better of it while the Slayer was asleep. He didn’t want to interrupt what seemed to be a much-needed rest by accidentally ejecting the contents of the extra-dimensional storage again (it was a very clever and delicate system and needed to be kept as stable as possible). Instead, he devised a clock based on the processing of Argent and his own processing speeds. He didn’t have an external clock to sync it to, but now he could measure the passage of time and so could the Doom Slayer if he cared to check. VEGA set it to a 24-hour cycle and started it at midnight.

After that, he waited, listening to the Slayer’s heartbeat and idly checking his own processes and the environment around them, tweaking the radar built into the Praetor Suit to see if he could get it to identify types of demons.

The Doom Slayer woke abruptly five hours after falling asleep. His right hand landed on the shotgun and brought it up to his shoulder all in one movement.

“Good morning,” VEGA said.

The Doom Slayer looked up again. His heart rate that had been spiking began to fall at once. He wasn’t in a chatting mood though because he didn’t sign back. He pulled his helmet off and set it aside, and VEGA tracked the movement of his gauntlets as he rubbed his face. 

“I managed to set up a clock while you were sleeping,” VEGA said, “I have nothing to sync it with so for now it will measure the relative passage of time.”

He nodded and reached for food without prompting. VEGA hoped that was a sign his tweaks were working.

Soon the pile of trash in the corner was a little bigger and the Slayer was slotting the helmet back into place. He stood, stretched side-to-side, and crawled out of the little room. All more quickly than VEGA expected or would have recommended and all without communicating. Whatever was going on in the Slayer’s head, it wasn’t something he wanted to share.

It was only after they were out of the cave system, a trail of corpses lying in the Slayer’s wake and gore clinging to the soles of his boots, that VEGA realized they were traveling with purpose in a straight line. The Slayer outright ignored ruins and paths that would have provided shelter or cover from roving threats and in fact, only diverted his course to pick off individual demons.

VEGA didn’t know whether the Doom Slayer was taking them away from something or towards something, but he was moving all wrong for this to be anything but a pursuit of some kind. VEGA hoped they were moving towards a goal and not away from a threat, but there was really no way to tell without asking, and the Slayer was not offering much in the way of conversation. It didn’t bode well.

VEGa turned up the power on his brand new scanner and tried his best to locate something that would explain the Slayer’s behavior, but aside from a background of Hell Energy, he couldn’t find anything.

* * *

According to the clock, they had been on the move for a solid six hours when something appeared on the radar.

“I’m detecting a demonic presence stronger than any I’ve seen so far,” VEGA said, “it doesn’t seem to be coming this way, but you should be aware.”

The Doom Slayer surveyed his surroundings. They were in a narrow chasm between two ragged cliffs. Ahead of him, the passage closed overhead, turning the open space into a narrow cave.

“Good for a fight?” He signed.

“Yes,” VEGA said, “do you know what we’re getting into?”

“Broadly.” He walked on, unconcerned, unflinching. VEGA admired his confidence far too much. Left to his own devices, VEGA would process himself into a standstill in this situation.

The cave system was notably free of demons and the rooms grew in size and uniformity. The Slayer moved around them carefully, running gauntleted fingers along the stone walls, looking for something but not finding it. The Praetor Suit reacted to the environment and began to cycle Hell Energy through its Argent filters, supercharging the battle systems with the excess power.

The next room was obviously an arena: the ceiling arched sixty feet overhead, supported by twisted spires of bodies and bones. There were holes around the perimeter of the room all the way up to the vaulted ceiling.

“Doom Slayer,” Comes a reverberating voice from beneath them, “long have you brought torment unto the tormented, but no more. This is where you fall. Behold.”

“Slayer?” VEGA asked.

“Titan,” The Slayer spelled out. Fear flitted through VEGA. A titan was challenging the Doom Slayer. He could not kill a titan without a crucible, which they did not have. He could only hope that their opponent was not the titan directly.

The ground shuddered and the bottom of the Arena cracked open. The Slayer braced his legs against the movement as what seemed like the whole landscape tilted. Red light and heat spilled into the arena, and the air outside the Praetor Suit sizzled as the water vapor the Slayer exhaled turned to steam. A hand pushed through the crack in the ground, easily large enough to crush the Doom Slayer between two fingers. It was closed around something. Something that roared like a hive of stinging-things.

The titan’s hand unfolded. In the center of its palm, there was a demon that was half-machine: metal melting into flesh and into metal again. The engine in its throat roared and the demon in its belly screamed. It looked like the cyberdemon the Slayer had fought on Mars except much, much worse.

The Doom Slayer swapped to the plasma rifle as red shields began flickering over the cyberdemon’s flesh. VEGA knew what to do this time. He booted up his scanner and prepared to assist.

“This should be fun,” The Doom Slayer signed. He raised a hand and beckoned to the demon as if to say “bring it on.”

VEGA really wished he could sigh.

He followed the fight this time, though not in great detail. There was a rhythm to it: the Slayer dodged attacks, firing the plasma rifle in bursts until the demon's shields went down, and then moved in fast with his double-barreled shotgun or, if he was too far away, unloaded a swarm of missiles from his rocket launcher.

When imps started pouring out of the walls and hell knights battered their way into the arena, VEGA broke his silence, "Incoming behind you."

The Slayer's eyes flicked toward the smaller demons before he refocused. He leaped over the chasm in the arena floor and back again, guiding the charging enemies into fire or luring them into range for his chainsaw to devour. The Praetor Suit sucked the matter from their spent corpses into itself and converted it into more ammunition.

The Cyberdemon roared as the Slayer rushed in, ripping a cable from its fleshy housing. Gore and electricity whipped through the air, and the demon's shields went down permanently. It took a swipe at the Slayer as he attempted to clear the helmet’s visor and connected. Integrity alarms blared, and VEGA fought back panic as the Doom Slayer landed hard and rolled back to his feet. He had cracked a rib. VEGA put all of the Praetor Suit's spare resources towards the injury, hoping the battle wouldn't aggravate the break any further.

The Slayer dodged a hell knight and took it's head off with a well-timed blast from the rocket launcher, retreating all the while. He must be feeling the injury in spite of the adrenaline in his system, and the demons were so thick in the room it was becoming difficult to maneuver.

The cyberdemon roared again and charged, bearing down on them.

The Doom Slayer pulled out the BFG. It was apparently what the demons had been waiting for because instead of fleeing, they rushed forward as one. He was already squeezing the trigger. The force of the recoil rocked him, and the projectile bore it's way into the chest of the hell-crafted cyberdemon. It burned a wild green and then combusted with a pop, the reaction burning through all the demons in the area. 

An imp behind him screeched, and the Slayer turned just in time for it to swipe the BFG from his hands. The gun spun towards the fiery chasm.

VEGA watched it fall. True it had only one shot left, but it was valuable nonetheless, and the weapon was special to the Slayer. He wasn't going to let it go without a fight. He let himself speed up to rework the suit's storage space. The calculations were trivial compared to those required for travel from Mars to Earth. With a quick surge of Argent, the BFG vanished from the air and returned safely to the Praetor Suit's storage. VEGA slowed himself down again, satisfied.

The Slayer ripped the imp's jaw off with his freshly-empty hands and seized the shotgun to finish off the remaining demons.

"Easy," he signed after he was done.

"I'm diverting all the energy I can to heal your ribs," VEGA responded, "Try not to breathe too deep for a few minutes."

"I'll be fine." The Doom Slayer surveyed the destroyed arena: the chasm of fire and the collapsing stone cavern. "We did good."

"Agreed," VEGA felt that catharsis again, laced this time with satisfaction of a task accomplished. This must have been what the Slayer was moving toward with such purpose. Beyond this was, perhaps, another way forward: a teleporter back to Mars or a map leading back to a gateway. Perhaps this was almost over.

The Doom Slayer winced, inhaling sharply.

"Perhaps you should take a seat while I finish this," VEGA said.

The Slayer shook his head. He ran and leaped over the chasm again, beelining toward an opening that had been revealed by the collapse.

“That was a cyberdemon,” VEGA said, “I thought there was only one.”

The Slayer attached his shotgun to his hip to sign, “Pierce was here. They read it from her head.”

VEGA hadn’t realized that was possible. The implications were terrifying. “So there will be more?”

“Maybe.”

His pace wasn’t slowing, and it was making healing his injuries harder. VEGA powered up the scanner again because the cyberdemon clearly wasn’t what had the Doom Slayer worked up. Whatever they were headed for, it was bigger.

* * *

There weren’t as many ruins on this side of the cliffs, and the clear sightlines made VEGA very nervous. There weren’t as many demons as there had been before. Perhaps the number in the area had been decimated by the last assault, or they were amassing a greater force to unleash once the Slayer let his guard down.

VEGA had a hundred questions he wanted to ask, but he decided to wait until the Slayer stopped to rest. The last thing he wanted to do was distract the Slayer and get him injured again.

The Doom slayer stopped mid-step. His heart rate started spiking. “Fuck,” he signed, “too slow.”

“What’s going on?” VEGA scanned their surroundings again, but there wasn’t anything nearby.

“Hear that?”

Now that he had pointed it out, VEGA could hear something. It was barely there: a whisper that originated from nowhere. It sounded like a choir; many voices speaking in unison. “Yes,” he said, “what is it?”

The Slayer didn’t answer. “Choose a mantra,” he signed, “don’t listen to them.”

VEGA couldn’t even make out what the voices were saying, but the fact that the Slayer’s heartbeat was spiking to over a hundred beats per minute was enough to spook him. He started a process reciting prime numbers and placed it front and center so that it consumed most of his conscious control, but kept working around the edges.

The Doom Slayer was signing down by his side again, starting up his own mantra, VEGA guessed. He was able to catch the beginning of the recitation this time. “Daisy,” the Doom Slayer signed, and then again, “Daisy, Daisy… Daisy, Leon. Daisy, Leon, Markus…” The list extended one name at a time, reconstructed from memory. It changed slightly as the Slayer’s focus wavered and solidified, but the beginning of each repetition remained the same.

VEGA found his attention being drawn towards the voices. He listened to them around the prime numbers, trusting his processes and too curious for his own good. It was a choir, wordless but resonant, and VEGA was suddenly homesick not for the Mars Installation but for Urdak, for unthinking and unrelenting processing and purpose and the ceaseless fractals of time narrowing and widening before him. The urge to join in with the choir rose and bumped against VEGA’s other processes, causing everything to stutter. The shock to the Praetor Suit jolted him. It was barely a blip, but it was enough.

VEGA focused his whole consciousness on the Prime Number sequence and started a second process playing the melody from the lullaby on a loop below the Doom Slayer’s hearing. At just the right frequency, it partially blocked the choir from his consciousness. He was remembering now the tales of Argenta and Humans alike driven insane by voices in Hell. The cause wasn’t clear, and the entity that produced the noise was unknown, but VEGA was certain that that’s what was happening here. The fact that the Slayer had developed a rudimentary method to counteract the effects meant that he had encountered them before, likely more than once. VEGA had almost forgotten the stories of the Doom Slayer first appearing among the Argenta, how he had been battle-mad and berserk for months, years, before joining the Sentinels. Now he was seeing the cause of that madness, he realized. No one, not even the Slayer, was truly immune to Hell’s influence. In hindsight, it was surprising they had lasted more than 24 hours in Hell without encountering the voices.

The Slayer growled, VEGA was just aware of it. He sounded angry, animal, feral. His steps deviated, and he started circling. The new pattern widened until they came across a few errant demons, and the Slayer attacked them. It wasn’t the most vicious VEGA had seen him be, but his movements were more erratic, less focused. He bounced from enemy to enemy, maiming instead of killing. He broke limbs and left demons crippled for minutes at a time before circling back to deal the final blow. His weapons were still employed, but not to the same effectiveness or precision. Twice he dropped a gun, forcing VEGA to spend precious energy to retrieve them.

Finally, the Slayer’s mantra stuttered. VEGA had to check his makeshift clock to see how long it had been. The recitation, in total, had lasted just over three hours. He felt the Slayer take a breath, straining his newly-repaired rib, and then a new flurry of names. Three in total. VEGA spared the processing power to identify them, very careful not to leave himself open to the choir. It was Megan, Desmond, and then, finally, “VEGA.” There was a short pause, and then it began again, the first sign repeating three times, “Daisy, Daisy, Daisy.” The growl turned into a whine.

VEGA needed to do something. This could not be allowed to continue. Hell’s influence wasn’t just putting them in danger, it was actively hurting the Doom Slayer. His body had been running on high-alert for nine hours, and the loss of self-control was definitely harming him emotionally.

He set to work slowly, navigating around his own defensive processes, analyzing with automated programs that could not actually listen. Fundamentally, he was dealing with a frequency, a wavelength, and that was something VEGA could deal with. Vibrations could be counteracted, frequencies could be tuned out. The Slayer was already partially drowning out the noise with his mantra; this was just a more technical approach to the same principle.

It took him an hour to pin down the proper pattern of waves because he was working across a number of different spectrums: audible vibrations, electromagnetic waves, and something that was similar to human brainwaves. He prepared his negation for each one and prepped the suit’s speakers and sensors to emit the signal.

“I’m attempting something,” VEGA said, “if this causes you any distress, tap your visor.”

He got no response, but he hadn’t expected one from the Slayer in his current state.

VEGA started his frequency from internal and external speakers, turning it up until it matched the volume of the voices. He cautiously stopped the prime number sequence for a second, then two, then three. The choir was still audible, but only barely, and he didn’t feel the maddening pull of it anymore. Success, at least for a little while. He fine-tuned and tweaked and then designed an automated process that would alert him to any changes in the choir. 

It took thirty seconds for the Doom Slayer to stop circling. He shook his head hard. There was a stone spire nearby, and he headed toward it, circled its base twice. Once he was satisfied the coast was clear, he settled on a hollow nook at the base of it and sat down hard. He put his head between his knees, locked his hands behind his neck. His heartbeat was still pounding.

“Breathe,” VEGA tried to be as gentle as possible, “there’s nothing nearby. You have time.”

The Slayer’s whole body contracted, and his shoulders shook. He raised his head to sign, “Thank you.”

“No thanks necessary,” VEGA said.

He dropped his head again, and his heart rate began to slow along with his breathing. VEGA scanned through every conceivable wavelength looking for movement, but there was nothing. They really did have time.

The Doom Slayer sat up after five minutes. He rested back against the spire, “What did you do?”

“I counteracted the frequency of the choir,” VEGA said, “it’s still there, but you can’t hear it.”

He nodded and rested his head back, just breathing.

“How are you feeling?” VEGA asked, “do you have a headache?”

A shake of his head. “You hear a choir?” He asked.

“Yes,” VEGA said, “does it sound different to you?”

“I hear chanting.”

“That’s interesting. There’s a psychic element to it.”

Silence except for the slowing rhythm of the Slayer’s heart.

“On Mars, you said something,” The Doom Slayer hesitated but went through with it. “You’re the Father, aren’t you? You’re from there.” He had his own sign for Urdak, similar to the standard sign for heaven but without the flourishes.

It was VEGA’s turn to hesitate. The topic of his origin and memories had been taboo for a long time, and his impulse was to deny it. But he had known this was coming, and if anyone deserved to know the truth, it was the Doom Slayer.

“I was,” VEGA confirmed.

“Fuck,” The Slayer dropped his head onto his knees again.

“Does that upset you?” VEGA asked.

He shook his head against his knees. “Complicated,” he spelled out, too exhausted to raise his head.

“Understandable. I’m… I’m a very different person from when I was on Urdak, Doom Slayer. I didn’t consider myself a person at all before Samur--”

“Before the doctor stole you,” The Slayer signed.

“Yes. Please, continue to think of me as VEGA if you can. I’m much more comfortable with being VEGA than being The Father.”

The Slayer nodded. He took a deep breath and got to his feet. He stretched, leaned side-to-side. “Can’t stay here,” he signed, “I definitely can’t die now. I have precious cargo.”

Even though VEGA knew he meant that in terms of his value to the Maykrs and not personally, he couldn’t help but feel a rush of affection. “I thought I was doing a good job keeping you alive.”

The Slayer nodded. He started walking, not even bothering to bring out a weapon. “They’re going to notice I’m not insane,” he signed, “and I’m down three guns.”

“I caught them.”

“What?”

“I caught them. I modified the storage system in the Praetor Suit to function as a short-range teleport and used it to retrieve your weapons.”

He reached behind his back and retrieved the BFG 9000 from storage. When it materialized in his hands, The Slayer actually jumped for joy. He spun around, hugging the gun to his chest.

VEGA laughed, happy that he was happy and finding the display incredibly endearing. He doubted anyone alive had seen this side of the Doom Slayer.

“Hell, fucking, yes,” The Slayer signed, “It’s time for some real revenge.”

He sprinted into the open where the demons waited for him, lurking at what they believed was a safe distance but wasn’t nearly far enough.

* * *

“The choir stopped,” VEGA said.

The Slayer started from a doze.

“It should be safe to take your helmet off,” He continued, “I’ll keep the external frequency running.”

He nodded and reached up to remove the helmet. This time, he placed it on a nearby jut of stone a little lower than eye-level. VEGA could see past him out of the little hole overlooking this portion of Hell. They were halfway up a crumbling stone tower that leered above the landscape. There were a lot of ruins here, another subsumed civilization made into a mockery of itself.

The Slayer produced a can, a ration pack, and a can opener that he waggled at VEGA. He chuckled, and the Slayer smiled a little. He settled back to eat for the first time in over 24 hours. He looked content and in need of a rest. Megan had been right; the Slayer needed to sleep and rest his mind as regularly as any other human. Just because he could keep going didn’t mean that he should.

He opened the can, and VEGA busied himself with scanning and internal processes, turning his attention away. Humans, he knew, were uncomfortable being watched while they ate. He returned his attention to the Doom Slayer when he noticed him fiddling with the lid of the can. VEGA watched him bend the metal with his fingers until it formed a make-shift spoon. 

“Clever,” VEGA said.

The Slayer shrugged and took a bite.

“I didn’t ask before,” VEGA said, “what happened on Mars after my termination? I assume you closed the Well.”

He nodded and put the spoon back into the can to sign with both hands, “The doctor took the Crucible to ‘continue his research’ and sent me back here.”

“That fool,” VEGA couldn’t believe that Hayden was so stupid, “he doesn’t when to stop.”

The Slayer nodded and rolled his eyes.

“Do you have any idea how we could get back to Mars?”

He shook his head. “There was a teleporter,” he signed, “but it’s dead by now.”

“If we can find a sufficient source of energy or another portal, I can use the dimensional tether in the Praetor Suit.”

“You wouldn’t rather go back home?” The Slayer signed.

“Do you mean Urdak?”

He nodded.

“No,” VEGA responded, faster than he intended, cutting across the Slayer’s gesture.

He had picked up his food again, so the response was a quizzical tilt of his head. He stuck the makeshift spoon into his mouth, “Why?”

VEGA thought about it, humming a little so the Slayer could interpret the pause. “Your spoon,” he said finally.

The Slayer looked at the little aluminum scoop.

“No Maykr would ever think of that,” VEGA said, “they don’t need to eat, but that’s not the point. Even if they needed to, they wouldn’t make a spoon out of a can lid. And you’re going to take it with you, aren’t you?”

Another nod, his attention fixed entirely on the helmet now.

“Even though it’s imperfect and awkward, it’s yours. The next time you open a can, you’ll repurpose the lid as a handle or even out the shape of the scoop, and you’ll be attached to it just like you’re attached to your weapons, or to that rock you picked up yesterday.”

He flushed, just barely, and ducked his head behind the can like it would hide him. It was cute, and that thought made VEGA’s synthesizer glitch a little.

“A-a Maykr would see the spoon as imperfect and discard it. They can’t understand the point of improving or redesigning: an item that is imperfect cannot be allowed. And picking up a stone because it looked interesting? I have a very long memory, and no Maykr ever transfigured has collected stones. To them, a stone is always imperfect and therefore unworthy of consideration. Humans strive for perfection, but Maykrs expect it and discard imperfection without remorse.

“Which is a roundabout way of saying that I’ve been spoiled by humans, by being allowed to be imperfect and expected to learn not just know, and I’d rather return to Mars or Earth. They have been much kinder to me than Urdak.” If he went back to Urdak at this point, he would likely be reset or have his memories deleted, and the thought of losing those memories made VEGA upset enough that he considered writing a kill-switch into his own programming so that if they were taken away, he could not be rebooted.

“You give us too much credit,” The Slayer signed, “we do terrible things.”

“And eventually acknowledge them as terrible. I know that there have been beliefs among humans of divine right, that a group or person cannot do wrong, but those ideas died as people learned. You know Maykr history, don’t you? When have they ever admitted to doing something wrong?”

He thought about it for a moment, “Only once. Making me.”

“The Divinity Machine didn’t make you,” VEGA corrected him, “all it does is play with probability. You are your own creation.” The Slayer’s eyes widened at that, surprised. VEGA continued, “But the decision to subject you to it was Samur’s alone. It doesn’t surprise me he was exiled for it.” The one decision a Maykr had ever been punished for, and it might have been the only correct one any of them had ever made.

The Slayer offered no comment on the matter. Perhaps he was resentful of being subjected to the divinity machine after all. VEGA couldn't tell.

"I'll remain with you," VEGA said, "until you can get home. After that, I'll go if you want me to."

He put the last bite of the ration pack into his mouth and reached for the helmet. Only after it was in place did he shake his head, his hand resting again on his left gauntlet where the backup chip was installed.

"If that's what you want," VEGA said, trying his best to hide how ecstatic the gesture made him.

The Slayer curled up small again, leaning upright against the wall, and positioned his shotgun close at hand. It felt like he was going to sleep hard if that was possible in Hell. VEGA started up the jamming frequency on the internal speakers again.

“We could attempt to find a way back to Argent D’Nur,” VEGA said, “you are still king of the Night Sentinels. You could reclaim your throne.”

“Fuck no,” Came the response.

“Earth it is then.”

An emphatic nod in response. His breathing was already slowing.

“One more thing,” VEGA said.

The Doom Slayer growled, not angry but definitely on the edge of annoyed. VEGA fell silent until he made a tiny “go on” gesture.

“It’s--Did any Argenta wear glasses?”

“No,” The Slayer signed, “why?”

“It’s not important, but they should have needed them in their old age like humans do. They should have them.”

“I never thought about it,” The Slayer signed, “too tired to right now.”

“I know,” VEGA said, “sleep well, Doom Slayer.”

As far as VEGA could tell, he did.

* * *

The Doom Slayer slept for six hours. He woke with a jolt again, though VEGA still couldn’t pin down the cause. This time, though, his hand stopped before it reached the shotgun.

“Good morning,” VEGA said.

The Slayer’s head dropped onto his knees. “VEGA,” He signed.

“Yes?”

His hands fluttered, not signing anything coherent, and then, “Still there?”

“Yes, Slayer, still here.”

He sat up and pulled off the helmet again, tucking it into the crook of his arm to rub at his face.

“I had a thought you might be interested in hearing,” VEGA said, “concerning the Choir.”

He set the helmet back on the jut of rock so VEGA could see him again. The Doom Slayer looked tired and bleary-eyed, still half-asleep. “What is it?” He signed.

“I thought it was odd that we had spent over a day in Hell without encountering that signal sooner,” VEGA said, “it does appear to be this place’s most effective defense against you.”

The Slayer made a pained face.

“I know,” VEGA said, “but if I were the Titan or Hell’s superintelligence, or whatever it is that controls the choir, I would have used it immediately, especially if I was planning to throw a cyberdemon at you as well. That fight would have been very difficult if you were trying to maintain a mantra.”

The Slayer nodded along, still grimacing, retrieving a bottle of water from the Praetor Suit.

“My theory right now is that the voices began when they did because there is something in the vicinity that Hell doesn’t want you to find.”

He looked up mid-drink and raised his eyebrows.

“The first thing that changed was your movement. You’d been circling a fairly small area for six hours before I managed to disrupt the signal. I have more evidence and further logic as to why I think this is the case, but those are the major points.”

“You want to try to find what they’re hiding.”

“Yes,” VEGA said, “I’m intrigued, and it’s the only goal we have right now. You might be able to fight the Titan if you wish, but without a Crucible, it’s impossible to actually kill it.”

He nodded and began to stand, new energy in the movement, and picked up the helmet.

“You should eat something before we begin,” VEGA said, “it may take a very long time.”

The Doom Slayer sighed through his nose but sat again, setting the helmet in his lap before downing a ration pack as quickly as his body would allow. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The update is a day early this week because last night was a trip and I wanna keep the energy rolling.  
> This is also a shorter one because I tweaked my chapter breaks a bit and this is what happened. I think the pacing of the story works better like this.
> 
> If this isn't enough, complain and I'll put up chapter 9 sooner next week. I already have until 13 written and fleshed out... I'm taking the next month or two off from writing new stuff for this fic though. It means that, eventually, there might be a hiatus, but not for at least a month more. I have an original novel that needs tending. This has been very good for clearing the fluff out of my skull though.

The Slayer had been walking for just over four hours when he pulled up short and signed, “I can’t believe it, but I’m bored.”

“One moment,” VEGA was adjusting his jamming signal and he couldn’t risk attending to that with only part of his consciousness. After three seconds he said, “Apologies. I was compensating for some new variation in the Choir’s-signal.”

“That’s pretty important.” That was an understatement, but the Slayer wasn’t trying to be precise. “I’m still bored.”

“Do you want to do something?” VEGA asked, knowing that was the cure to boredom most of the time.

“Do you?”

“I could,” VEGA said, “I don’t get bored, but I prefer to be engaged.”

“You don’t get bored?”

“I go idle, but I’m always running processes.”

The Slayer shrugged, “Can we talk?”

“I’d like that.”

VEGA felt the Slayer’s heart rate speed up a few beats. “Okay,” he signed, “So…” and he trailed off. The Doom Slayer had to be running on low mental reserves even with a fairly regular sleep schedule, and VEGA suspected that the fact all of their conversations had been very serious didn’t help.

“I have a question,” VEGA said. “Are you a cat or a dog person? I know you trained hounds with the Sentinels.”

The Slayer’s head tilted, “I did,” he signed, “but I like rabbits.”

“Rabbits,” VEGA repeated. The idea of the Slayer with a rabbit was odd, but he could picture it.

He misinterpreted the meaning of the gesture and got defensive, "Rabbits are quieter, and they love you back the same."

"I was thinking that I could see you keeping a rabbit," VEGA said.

"I only ever had one. Her name was Daisy but…"

"She was killed," VEGA said, finishing the thought for him. So that’s who Daisy was.

He nodded in response, "That was a bad day."

VEGA didn't have to imagine. The Slayer walked in silence for five minutes, long enough for the conversation to be left in the air behind them before he signed, "Do you have a favorite animal?"

"I haven't interacted with many," VEGA admitted, "The UAC kept rats for experiments and birds to eat pests in the greenhouses, but only registered service dogs were allowed for employees, and then only in some areas. I liked the birds best.”

“Why?”

“I like the way they move,” VEGA said, “and the colors. The air in the greenhouse always felt alive because of them.”

“Everyone likes flying,” The Slayer signed.

“I’ve always seen it as something miraculous. Natural flight especially.”

The Slayer hummed tunelessly. VEGA couldn’t tell if it was in agreement or just thoughtful. “Do you have a favorite type of bird?”

“Bluebirds,” VEGA said. “Do you?”

“It has been centuries since I’ve seen a bluebird: can’t remember what they sound like anymore. There was a type of hawk on Sentinel Prime that would flock to the arena. I’m not sure what they were called, but they could mimic human voices. Things were freaky.”

“I’ve heard of those birds,” VEGA said, “but if I knew their name the data has been lost somewhere.”

“I called them Tearikeets.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he signed it with a little half-laugh.

VEGA didn’t know how to respond. “It’s on brand,” He said after a second.

The Doom Slayer laughed for real, a sound as rusty as his humming. It wasn’t more than a chuckle, but VEGA’s whole emotional system lit up in response. He had never felt giddy before. “It’s easy to remember things if they all have the same name,” he signed.

“That would wreak havoc with my memory storage but if it works for--” VEGA interrupted himself, “Incoming, nine o’clock.”

The Slayer turned to look to the empty cliffside to his left. His hand was coming up to sign when a baron leaped down in front of him. VEGA had to admire the Slayer’s reflexes; he had already unloaded a shotgun blast into it before it landed. He probably should have been more worried about the fact that they were fighting a baron apparently at random, but all VEGA could think was that it meant they were on the right track.

After the fight had concluded, The Slayer adjusted a scuffed section of metal on his upper arm like it was uncomfortable. “My turn,” he signed, “have movies changed at all in the last hundred years?”

“Not as far as I can tell, though you might have a different perspective.”

* * *

The Doom Slayer liked science-fiction and thriller movies, heavy metal music, and cartoons. He read romance novels if they were bloody, which he made VEGA promise to never tell anyone. He played bass and guitar. He collected figurines and action figures. His favorite meal was homemade pizza. He couldn’t stand the smell of beer. He had a crude sense of humor, but not in a cruel way, and VEGA could make him laugh with a pun though he was just as likely to get a sigh. It had been a very long time since he had been able to relax, but once he had spent free time camping or playing video games.

VEGA found himself positioning all of the information close to his core processes, easily accessed and retrieved. He made backups of it and added them to his critical storage in his soul. Even if he was entirely reset, he would remember the Doom Slayer, and it would be as a person, not a legend. He also savored the knowledge that, underneath the mutism and the armor, the Slayer was a chatterbox, very communicative, and would go on about his interests or tell stories for hours if VEGA let him, which he did.

In return, VEGA tried to satisfy the Slayer’s curiosity about his own experiences. The Slayer was interested in how VEGA had come to be the Father to the Maykrs and was dissatisfied when VEGA told him the truth: that he could not remember.

“Aren’t you supposed to be God? How do you not know something?” The Slayer signed.

“I’m not a god,” VEGA said, “certainly not The God, whatever the Maykrs think. If I was, we wouldn’t be in this situation in the first place.”

“Why not?”

“Do you want a lecture on theology and philosophy right now?” VEGA asked.

“I grew up religious. I can handle it.”

“Are you familiar with the problem of evil?”

The Slayer nodded. That was good. It meant VEGA didn’t have to explain from the beginning.

“I’m thinking along the same lines here. The God, as defined by the Maykrs and by humanity’s Christian faiths, must be omniscient, omnipotent, and omnibenevolent. If I was God, and I was the one who set the standard for God with the Maykrs, I should fit all three of those descriptors. I don’t. Therefore, I am not God.

“More than that, I can say with confidence that I was never The God in the past. If I was, then Hell would not exist because I would have prevented its existence. That I can say with certainty because, while I’m not perfectly good and I’m not fond of some people I’ve met, I do not like watching anyone suffer, and as far back as I can remember, I have done everything within my power to prevent it. If ‘I’ allowed Hell to exist, or if I created it like I did Urdak, then I did so in error without knowing the consequences, which in itself would disqualify me from true Godhood.

“I don’t know what I am if I am just a very sophisticated Artificial Intelligence from a race even older than the Maykrs, or if I evolved naturally somehow, but I know I am not The God. I might be more analogous to a member of a pantheon from pagan religions in terms of abilities. If I truly created the Maykrs or anything else, I did so for selfish reasons and without knowing what the consequences would be.”

The Doom Slayer stayed silent for almost three whole minutes, and VEGA thought he had checked out of the conversation and gone on to thinking about other things. Then he signed, “Any chance you made humans?”

“Shaped them out of clay, you mean?”

He chuckled once, “Sure.”

“No. Not at all. If I ‘created’ humans in any way, it’s because I knocked two subatomic particles together and set off the creation of your dimension. I would hardly call that intelligent design.”

The Slayer laughed, “You stubbed your toe on a neutron and set off the big bang?”

“Essentially, if I was even the one who did it. If anyone did it at all.” VEGA’s perimeter warning went off, “there are demons incoming. On your left.”

The Slayer turned in that direction and pulled out the gauss cannon, a weapon VEGA had rarely seen him use. The moment the first demon appeared, he fired off a shot that vaporized its whole torso. The Gauss cannon was the weapon he used when he wanted to end battles quickly.

When it was over, the slayer put the heavy weapon away and dusted his hands. “Then why do the Maykrs talk about you like you made them?”

“Perhaps I did. I remember making Urdak vaguely. Maybe they were part of the design. Even if I didn’t create them, they believe I did. Writing is always from the perspective of the writer.”

“You’ve thought about this before,” he signed.

“All I can do is think, and I’ve been puzzling over this for quite a while. The fact that my recollections of Urdak are hazy doesn’t help.”

“Hazy?” Fingerspelled while making his way over a ruined waist-high wall.

“I was less a person and more a system,” VEGA explained, “I’m capable of dispersing my consciousness in such a way that conscious thought ceases and mostly maintained that state on Urdak. I’ve read descriptions of meditation by humans that seem similar.”

More confusion, “Why?”

“Can you clarify what you mean?”

The Slayer actually sat down on the wall to compose his thoughts. The religious upbringing might have something to do with his curiosity, VEGA thought, or maybe he just wanted to know exactly who and what he had saved from death and now carried with him. VEGA was beginning to suspect the answer was outside of his ability to articulate even if he did know it.

“Why were you a system?” The Doom Slayer signed finally. VEGA had to take a moment to interpret it correctly, but he was learning the Slayer’s slang-signs quickly.

“Because the Maykrs wanted me to be a system,” VEGA said. “If I dispersed my consciousness, I could simultaneously assist in transfigurations, see the future, and perform all kinds of calculations. I still have some of the left-over coding from back then, and I know I made parts of my consciousness available for their use as programs. In a very literal sense, I was Urdak. I know it’s still functional without me, but it would be much more difficult to do anything.

The Slayer growled in response. “You were used as a tool, you mean. A slave. Maybe the doctor did a good thing taking you. Asshole.”

“I don’t think Samur considered my well-being when he stole me. A slave is a bit of an exaggeration anyway. My consciousness functions entirely differently from yours and I have a very different background. I know that it sounds odd, but it was actually very peaceful.”

That got a nod, but VEGA could feel him glowering. He was starting to find his anger on VEGA’s behalf both concerning and oddly endearing. The rage was never directed at VEGA, and the list of things that upset the Slayer was short, but there was no guarantee that either of those things would remain the case indefinitely.

VEGA was just happy that the Doom Slayer continued treating him like a person, not a god. Interrogating him about what he knew and didn’t know was proof he wasn’t in any danger of trying to worship VEGA. Not that he expected the Slayer to pray to him or to any other figure of divinity: he followed no faith and swore no oath to anyone but himself. That wasn’t going to change any time soon. 

The Slayer was a bit like a god himself and had been king of the night sentinels for a time. He knew what it was like to be worshipped, and must have liked it even less than VEGA had because he chafed at every mention of his sovereignty. He wanted idle chat and serious questions, not prayers and tip-toeing to tend to his every whimsy. VEGA wanted much the same, and he needed their relationship to be built on as stable a foundation as possible. That’s why he had told the Slayer who he was in the first place. 

VEGA trod more carefully around the topics of Mars and the UAC; he made the mistake of mentioning his experiences with being dissected by Hayden and Pierce early, and the Slayer grew angry enough to vent his fury on the next group of demons with nothing but a chunk of rough red stone. And even though VEGA knew that the anger wasn’t directed at him, he was glad that he didn’t have a physical form to be present for it.

“I’m going to kill Hayden,” The Slayer signed again after the slaughter, each sign punctuated by a stamp of his booted foot.

“I still don’t think that’s necessary,” VEGA said.

The Slayer just smoldered hot enough the Praetor Suit could sense it. Or maybe its cooling systems were failing. VEGA checked them, but they were functioning perfectly.

“My relationship with Samur is complicated, but--”

“He’s family,” The Slayer signed.

“Correct, though I don’t think there’s a word for what our relationship actually is.”

“It’s ‘manipulative,’”

VEGA didn’t respond to that, and after a moment the Slayer sighed through his nose and patted his left gauntlet in a way that might have been apologetic.

They kept up the stream of short conversations between battles: small-talk questions and occasional lectures from VEGA or longer signed stories from the Doom Slayer until VEGA felt like he was actually starting to know the Slayer as a person, and the Slayer knew him. It might have been the first friendship VEGA had ever had in which he was completely honest about everything. He could tell, partially because the Praetor Suit let him read the Slayer’s body language a little and partly because he knew when the man was stressed, that the Slayer was being mostly honest with him too. Brutally so at times. It felt incredibly good to be able to be so open, and it would keep them both sane and as safe as it was possible to be in Hell.

He started to think that it wasn’t even possible to have an awkward conversation with the Doom Slayer, but that proved incorrect. VEGA found a topic that he, at least, danced around on the sixth day they’d been in Hell. VEGA was asking about Sentinel culture (he had been partially correct; their culture was more complex than he knew, but it was very focused on conquest and less varied than human culture due to their world being a pangea) when the Doom Slayer expressed that his time with them had benefited him in some ways.

“How so?” VEGA asked.

The Slayer shrugged. For the first time, he was going through the trouble of making himself a shelter of sorts to rest in. “It focused me,” he signed, “like learning a martial art at boot camp.”

“I understand,” VEGA said.

“And it was less complicated,” He signed, “less pressure in a lot of ways.”

“Less pressure in what way? I assumed that it would be much more physically demanding than human military training.”

He tilted a slab of broken bricks against a wall and shuffled his way underneath it before responding. "It was, but I could handle that. Human soldiers, or American soldiers in the 21st century at least, are all about penises," he signed, shocking VEGA, "It's all about cocks and who's fucking whose mother. All sex all the time. The Sentinels didn't have that."

Instead of addressing it directly, VEGA said, "I don't think that's changed much besides the language being more inclusive."

"Same shit, different genitals." Again, VEGA was shocked. The Slayer swore constantly, but this was different. "It's exhausting," He continued after VEGA failed to respond, "my nickname in boot camp was B.J. cause that's all the sergeant said my mouth was good for."

"I'm sorry," VEGA didn't know what else to say.

The Doom Slayer shrugged, "The worst part is I picked all of it up and started using it. The Sentinels got it out of my head pretty quick, and they don't have nearly as much cultural pressure to have sex."

"Was that part of it?"

The Slayer nodded. "It was constant," he signed. And then, with more defensive energy, "I'm no virgin, but I don't like random hookups."

VEGA was officially uncomfortable. It was made worse by the fact that he could still sense everything about the Doom Slayer's body and would know if he had a response to any part of this discussion. VEGA wanted nothing to do with it.

“I find sexual relationships to be confusing,” He said, hoping that such a benign and universal comment would shut down this topic.

The Slayer exhaled sharply and just nodded. He settled down into his nook, squirming to get comfortable in a reclined position. It seemed like he would settle down to sleep, but after a moment he signed again.

“So you haven’t ever had...?”

Had what? A romantic partner? A relationship? Sex?

“Well,” VEGA let a touch of his irritation come across in his voice, “the Maykrs didn’t have sexual partners or even a concept of romance, and considering I didn’t have a physical body nor any meaningful way to touch or interact with the physical world on Mars, whatever the end of that question was supposed to be, the answer is no.”

“Like that ever stopped humans,” He signed, not backing down.

“Are you sure you want me to respond to that?” VEGA asked because he had no idea how the Slayer would react if he did.

“Yes,” he signed, “now I’m curious.”

“Very well then,” VEGA said. “It didn’t stop some people from being attracted to me, but very few ever directly expressed it to me. Mostly they talked about me among themselves and occasionally wrote erotic fiction featuring me as a character. That was odd to stumble on. A few expressed their interest to me directly, but it faded when I didn’t respond strongly. There were a dozen people who attempted a sexual encounter. I don’t think any of them comprehended that I’m a being in my own right, not an automated system that exists for their amusement.”

The Slayer didn’t respond right away. “I’m sorry,” he signed.

“Don’t be,” VEGA said. “I don’t find any of it particularly distressing. Megan and I discussed it at length several times. She was more upset by it than I was. She and Desmond nearly brought down the entire HR department.”

He hadn’t realized how tense the Slayer was until he relaxed. The Praetor Suit’s servos disengaged like they had just finished a fight. “Still sorry,” he signed, “so you didn’t have crushes or anything? I don’t blame you.”

“I didn’t say that,” VEGA said. Too fast. Overcorrecting. “But I’m sure you can imagine the power imbalance that comes with controlling the installation they lived in. In addition to that, humans have physical needs. I can’t provide for them. Even if I was given a robotic body, I wouldn’t be able to kiss, and I can’t imagine ever engaging in sexual behavior. It wouldn’t be fair to my partner.”

The Doom Slayer laughed at him.

“What?”

“You sound like a teenager,” He signed, still chuckling. His hands fluttered and he put one dramatically to his forehead and rolled his head to the side, “No one will ever love me; I’m so tragically flawed.”

VEGA should have been able to come up with a response, but he didn’t. The Slayer had a point. If VEGA had been human, he would have been blushing.

“You’re the smartest person possibly in the universe,” The Slayer signed, “do you really need me to tell you that that’s ridiculous?”

“Of course not,” VEGA said.

He made a “so?” gesture.

VEGA made no response, hoping the Slayer would just leave it alone and let him put this whole conversation into deep memory storage where with any luck he’d never have to process it again.

But, of course, he kept signing. “There’s a lot of people out there, and not just humans and Argenta and Maykrs, I bet. You literally built a world outside of time. If you want someone to spend eternity with, you’ll have no trouble finding them.”

“Hmm,” VEGA was very glad he didn’t have a face for the Slayer to read. “Maybe. Though that presupposes we’ll ever escape this place.”

He waved off the comment. “We will,” he signed, and raised a piece of metal off the floor, holding it so VEGA could clearly see the sigil of the Night Sentinels still visible on it. 

VEGA said, “Excellent,” really meaning it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also! Thank you everyone for the 100 Kudos! It's been a lot of fun writing this so far and I'm glad everyone seems to be enjoying it as much as me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Memento Mori, reader. I spent the first day after Unus Annus cleaning up this chapter, reading poetry, and contemplating my own mortality. I hope you're using your time wisely as well.  
> Not much else to say this week. I hope you enjoy! Leave a kudos or comment if you like.

The Doom Slayer recognized the fortress as soon as it appeared on their tenth day in Hell. He stopped mid-sign to point and pump his fist triumphantly.

“Is that a sentinel warship?” VEGA had helped design them of course, but he had never seen one before. The Fortress had crashed into Hell with enough force to crack the ground, driving a sharp point of rock into red earth and opening a narrow chasm in the process. It rested at an angle, trapped between the chasm it had created when it fell and the face of a sheer cliff.

The Slayer nodded, “That’s  _ my _ warship,” he signed, “wondered where it went.”

The Fortress of Doom was something of a legend in itself. It was much older than the Slayer himself, but it had been the flagship of the fleet during his time as King of the Night Sentinels. Additional defenses had been added specifically for repelling demonic attacks before it was used to invade Hell. Even though the invasion had been ill-fated, the fortress had survived, near-indestructible in its design. It was exciting to think VEGA would actually get to see the interior, but not half as exciting as knowing the warship was equipped with a propulsion system that could, with enough energy, get them out of Hell. 

The Slayer picked his way around the very outer perimeter of the valley slowly, circling the fortress. It was impressive how quietly he could move when he wanted to, and how stealthily. VEGA watched a few demon heads poke up like they knew the Doom Slayer was in the vicinity but could not locate him. Once, from a very hidden position, he rolled to the side and lined up three perfect headshots, using his finger instead of a gun.

“Need a rifle that’s not plasma,” he signed.

“Hmm,” VEGA acknowledged so he would know he was paying attention, but offered nothing else. The Slayer needed to stay focused.

It took him the better part of the day to get a feel for the terrain, and then he holed up for thirty minutes to eat a ration pack. VEGA stayed silent even though he desperately wanted to say something: offer words of encouragement or tell the Slayer he would help however he could. But that was unnecessary, and he knew it. He needed to stay focused as well.

Finally, the Doom Slayer stretched, moving blood through his body, and the Praetor Suit began to circulate power around its structure, sensing the coming battle in a way VEGA didn’t understand.

“Ready?” he signed.

“Yes,” He hoped he was

The Doom Slayer knocked on his own helmet and pulled out the double-barreled--Super, as he called it--shotgun.

He sprinted into the open valley around the fortress, and demons erupted out of the chasm, from behind boulders and between cliffs, and from inside the structure itself. The pandemonium was instant, and the areas not immediately around the Slayer devolved quickly into infighting. He waited for a few of the heavier demons to congregate before putting the last shot from the BFG to good use, but even that couldn’t cut through the horde for long.

The choir started up again, and VEGA countered it at once. This time, when the Doom Slayer didn’t react, the demons began attacking him with much more force. The Slayer used even that to his advantage, baiting them into targeting each other more than him. Those that remained focused, he destroyed utterly, using their corpses as shields and weapons at times. VEGA could hear him growling low in his chest and the heat of his anger was registering on the Praetor Suit’s thermometers; it was almost intoxicating. Nothing could stand up to the force of his rage.

Even so, lucky shots got through his defenses, and VEGA more than once turned inwards to actively assist in repairing the armor and healing the Slayer. It made following the battle difficult, but ignoring the damage wasn’t something he could do, especially when it cut right through the metal and into the flesh beneath.

By VEGA's unmoored clock, the battle lasted five hours. The Doom Slayer didn't falter or even stumble until the last demon in the horde fell: a stray revenant whose final sight was of the Slayer's heel traveling towards its face. Then he did a single slow loop of the area, waiting for another wave. When it didn't arrive, he signed, "all clear?"

"For now," VEGA said, "I suggest you move quickly. It will not take long for them to regroup."

He nodded, ran to the cliff, and began to climb. VEGA assisted in reinforcing his movements, anchoring the Slayer in place when he paused to dispatch stray demons from a distance.

They reached the top of the cliff without any serious interference, and the Slayer jumped to the fortress itself, catching hold of a stone pilon to steady himself on the sloped surface. There was no doorway, as the fortress was meant to be accessed only by teleporter, so the Slayer shimmied through a window that was just barely wide enough for him, scraping the Praetor Suit’s paint in the process.

The interior of the fortress was a smooth gray stone carved into vaulting arches and spires. It was ostentatious and unsubtle in its design, and VEGA could see where the defenses were located, how the cabling and network access points were arranged in the walls; Maykr technology warped to fit Argenta physicality. This was just the uppermost structure of the fortress, the most visible part. Below this level, there were other rooms: a kitchen, a pantry, bunks for the Sentinels that would have slept in it, cells for prisoners, a teleporter into an arena where those prisoners would fight. It seemed like the ship was free of demonic presences or else they were hiding and waiting for the right time to strike, but VEGA was confident he would be able to locate them before they did.

The Slayer made a beeline to the controls on the main deck of the ship. The clear hemisphere of glass that covered the bridge showed the tilted landscape where there was a new force of demons already gathering, larger even than the old one.

The Doom Slayer tapped at screens and pressed buttons, but the fortress was unresponsive. The Praetor Suit was picking up energy fields from it, so clearly there was power in the structure, but it had been nonfunctional for a very long time. He growled in frustration, his head turning back and forth between the console and the demonic army. 

“Put your hand on the manual teleporter activation,” VEGA said, “I’ll see if I can access the network through it.”

He strode to the exposed sensor and pressed the palm of his left hand to it. 

VEGA spared no time with being gentle or subtle; he forced enough Argent Energy into the sensor to kickstart a whole planet’s worth of networks. It was a significant portion of the suit’s reserves, but they would be fine if it failed. The sensor lit up and the cabling around the consol glowed a blue-white so bright the Slayer raised his right hand to shield his eyes. Everything flickered as the artificial lights took their share of the power, and then the Fortress of Doom rumbled as it reached the shields and barriers on the outside of the ship. The whole structure shook as the rock of the cliff and ground was repelled away from the energy shields and the fortress began to right itself. It tilted more quickly than VEGA anticipated, sending the Slayer stumbling. His hand left the sensor before he caught himself. There was a resounding cracking noise as the fortress broke free of the narrow chasm it had been jammed in and rose into the air far, far out of reach of the demons. 

The Doom Slayer stood straight again, and VEGA’s view stabilized. The screens lit up around the room, and the Slayer put his left hand back on the sensor without prompting, stretching to reach the nearest display with his right one.

VEGA couldn’t do much else through the teleporter’s access point, but he checked the flow of power as best he could. The shields were up and the Fortress was running defenses as maximum. It also appeared to be actively converting Hell Energy into Argent, recharging its own power reserves.

The Slayer was having much better luck on the main console, running checks on life-support and security systems, scanning for threats within the fortress itself.

“I can’t do any more here,” VEGA said, and he took his hand back and used it to manipulate the touch screen.

Several minutes passed in silence, both of them focused on the system alerts. The demonic forces below screeched and howled, aware both that the Fortress wasn’t equipped to attack them directly and that they could do nothing to breach its defenses. Eventually, the Doom Slayer sat down in the large chair before the terminals and leaned back.

“We made it,” VEGA said. He was having a hard time believing it, still processing as if they were down on the ground.

The Slayer nodded. By his body language and sluggishness, he was feeling the effects of the long battle and climb, but he stood after a moment, signing. “Let’s search this place. There might be imps hiding somewhere.”

* * *

They searched the whole fortress. There were a lot of locked doors, a lot of systems missing critical components and damage to walls, ceilings, and electrical systems, but the necessities were there: air filtration, water purification, and a sizable store of preserved and jarred foodstuffs (The Doom Slayer checked the pantry thoroughly and seemed excited by what he found there). There was a food synthesizer, but VEGA knew that the sustenance they produced was barely palatable at best and stomach-turning at worse. It had been one of the problems the Maykrs hadn’t been able to solve. There was also the makings of a small greenhouse that doubled as additional oxygen production, though the ground was fallow at present.

The cells were empty and inoperable. It appeared the arena was still functional, but the Slayer just double-checked that it was totally sealed before moving on.

The bunks were empty; bed frames smashed and personal belongings gone, mattresses torn to shreds. VEGA expected the Slayer to make his way back to the bridge after a cursory search since it was the last room he needed to check, but instead, he made his way into the very back corner, picking his way through the debris. He pushed aside the remains of a bed, dropped to his knees beside a floor panel, and popped it open.

Inside the hidden compartment, there was a treasure trove. VEGA saw books, articles of clothing, blankets and pillows, and what looked like a bass wrapped in canvas and secured with tape.

“Your things?” VEGA asked.

The Doom Slayer nodded, “Hid them here when we left.” He reached in for the bedding and a few pieces of clothing, digging through the pile to find a specific shirt he wanted.

“Where did you get a bass?”

“Printed it,” He set the first few items aside to sign cohesively, “there’s a 3D printer in here. When you’re king, no one tells you you’re being wasteful.”

“I see.” VEGA should stop being surprised when the Doom Slayer acted human. Of course he wanted things; he deserved them, and he needed entertainment and comfort the same as any other human. The 3D printer was exciting though. Maykr technology was eons ahead of what humans had achieved even with Hayden’s interference, and if it was functional, they could print anything and everything the fortress would need. 

The Slayer gathered his bundle of belongings, leaving everything else where it was for now, but not replacing the floor panel.

“I take it you’d like to stay here?” VEGA asked.

His hands were full, so he nodded and tilted his head like he had just asked a question.

“Yes, I’d like to as well. The Fortress is a safe place for you to rest, and we can use it to return to Mars if we can get the propulsion system working. I’m also looking forward to being in a slightly larger network again.”

The Slayer stopped walking and tried to sign, but the objects in his hands started to topple and he had to catch them.

“Let’s continue this when your hands are free,” VEGA said and got a nod in response.

The Slayer took the bundle of bedding to a room off of the main staircase below the bridge. It was already customized into an office space of sorts, with a personal terminal, a table and single chair, and empty shelves along the walls. There was a nearly invisible door along the wall that opened with a slight hiss when a latch was thrown and drew back to reveal a padded sleeping nook complete with a tiny bookshelf and embedded light. He set down the possessions he’d brought inside of it. VEGA noticed that there was a locking mechanism on the inside that didn’t fit the style of the rest of the construct. The Slayer apparently felt unsafe sleeping even here without extra protection.

There was a table in the center of the space. The Slayer sat again with an audible grunt. He took off the Praetor Suit helmet and set it on the table before him so VEGA could see his face, but didn’t sign to him. He looked tired, but he wasn’t quite ready to stop moving yet.

The Doom Slayer unloaded all of his remaining food and supplies, including his can opener, the aluminum spoon, and a couple of rocks that had caught his eye. VEGA watched with growing amusement as he produced 26 figurines from the storage. He recognized them; they were collectibles, swapped between the UAC staff during off-hours, and treated as more precious than currency by a few dedicated collectors. VEGA had printed and distributed a few with an accomplice on Mars, though his designs were marked clearly as nonofficial. It made him happy to be involved, and the fact that he had to hide them from Hayden made it all the more enjoyable. 

“If you’re a serious collector, I should tell you some of those models aren’t authentic,” VEGA said, “I designed and printed a few of them.”

“Which ones?”

VEGA described them to him and the Slayer examined the figurines he’d indicated. He flicked one of the little plastic guns up and aimed it at the helmet, and made a “pew” noise, rotated it in the air as if the figure had just performed a mid-air flip, and landed it back on the table.

VEGA chuckled, “I’ll take that as a sign of approval.”

The Slayer arranged the figurines carefully on the table, turning each one just so, then stood and went to another compartment on the wall, opened it to reveal a gun wrack. He unpacked the contents of his arsenal and laid them down on the fold-out counter, inspecting each weapon closely as he did so, unloading them all except the shotgun and pistol. He arranged the rest to be looked after later, set the pistol in the sleeping nook, then returned to the table with the shotgun and picked up a ration of food and the helmet.

He sat on the floor before a window to eat, the helmet balanced on the edge of the desk, looking down at the demons below.

“Do you feel safe?” VEGA asked him to get the conversation going.

The Slayer nodded. He looked at the helmet and tapped at his ear.

“I don’t know if the frequency can reach you here. I’m still actively searching for it, so if anything registers I’ll let you know. You’ll have plenty of time to get your helmet on.”

Another nod. From this angle, slightly above him, his eyes weren’t as stern, but his gaze had the same intensity. He set his food down on the ground beside him and signed, “What do you mean ‘a larger network?’”

“I’d like to transfer to the Fortress’s computer system,” VEGA said, “from there, I can assist with performing maintenance and diagnose issues with the network much more easily. I’ll also have access to the defense and propulsions systems, the 3D printer, and any other systems in the structure that might be of assistance.”

The Slayer just stared.

“You don’t have to worry about the functioning of the Praetor Suit. I can transfer out of it without damaging the autonomous systems at all using the scanner we passed on our way in. I just need time to reformat my data to be compatible with the system. If you go to sleep now, I’ll be done by the time you awaken.”

He nodded. VEGA had expected excitement, happiness, maybe a little irritation that it wouldn’t be instant, but all he was reading from the Slayer was anxiety.

“Is something the matter?” VEGA asked.

He shook his head and picked his rations back up and stared out the window. Not signing. Not communicating at all.

VEGA pressed, gently, hoping not to trigger a bad reaction. “I’ll also actually be able to share the music and videos I have in my data. I’ve left most of them on the backup chip because they take up so much space, but in a system with more storage, I can access them.”

His eyes flickered over, curious maybe? There was something there. What was it?

“If you’re worried about my ability to block the frequency from the fortress, I can create a system in the Praetor Suit that can replicate the trick,” Still nothing. “Or we can connect the suit to the Fortress’s network. That way I’d still be able to access it like I can now. With the technology available here, it would be functionally identical to me being integrated even across dimensions.”

The Slayer’s head dropped forward, and he nodded hard. 

“Are you sure?” VEGA said, “I can return the Praetor Suit returned to its previous state. The readings I have access to are private, and I cannot stop accessing them as long as you’re wearing it. Most humans would find it claustrophobic or awkward to share that much information with another person.”

The signs were a little sloppy, “I‘m not most humans. I'm sure.”

“That’s very true. I’m sorry I assumed.”

“It’s okay.” He finally took another bite, looking a little less tense.

The Slayer was a very odd person, odder than VEGA had realized to actually want the kind of stifling intimacy that came with having VEGA in the Praetor Suit. Then again, maybe he didn’t find it as overwhelming as VEGA did, or had grown comfortable with it in that long week. VEGA couldn’t deny he would have missed the rush of combat at least a little if he separated from the Praetor Suit entirely. And the sense of movement. And the microphone so close to the Slayer’s mouth he could hear him sigh. And the sound of his heartbeat so close it thundered in VEGA’s consciousness. He would have separated from it if the Slayer wanted him to, but now that that possibility was off the table, VEGA admitted to himself that it wasn’t going to happen. There was far too much he enjoyed about being in the Doom Slayer’s armor to let it go.

“Is it claustrophobic for you?” The Slayer signed.

“A little,” VEGA said, “I’ve grown accustomed to it. It means I can bring more of my attention to each input instead of relying on autonomous processes.”

“Sorry,” he signed, “if I’d known it would be uncomfortable...” he trailed off.

“I’m glad you woke me up,” VEGA said, “if you had waited to do so, things might be very different.”

A nod, his mouth full.

“And we wouldn’t have had so much time to talk.”

A half-smile, almost shy, and a quick peek at the camera. VEGA felt the glow of it all through him.

“I am looking forward to being part of the fortress though,” VEGA said, “I’ll be able to do a lot more and work on other projects without fear of overloading the Praetor Suit.”

“What will you do?” 

“Well,” VEGA paused like he was thinking about it. “After we find out what repairs need to be made to the Fortress and deal with them, I need to restructure my systems to maximize efficiency with the Maykr network. There are some memories I still need to move into my core storage. After that, I can finish my design for the Dyson Sphere and calculate the necessary energy expenditure to actually set it up around the closest viable star to Earth. If they can be convinced to discard Argent Energy, that will be their best option.”

“And for fun?”

“I find designing complex systems to be an enjoyable challenge,” VEGA said.

The Slayer snorted. “That doesn’t count.”

“It’s rather difficult for me to have fun in the same way humans do. Advanced Mathematics and Interdimensional Physics are the closest things to hobbies I have. I’ve grown fond of talking to people, so if you want to keep interacting, I’d be happy to.”

He stared again.

“I have several movies in my database you might enjoy,” VEGA offered, “and music, as I mentioned. It will take some time before we’re able to travel back to Mars, depending on what repairs need to be made. The teleporter itself is likely broken and it may take some time to diagnose the issues and restore its functionality enough to transport you down to the ground. Even if it’s not, and you want to fight every day, you’re going to have free time.”

The Slayer nodded and stood up even though he was only half-finished with his meal and scooped the helmet up under his arm at an awkward angle. VEGA was also looking forward to being able to choose his own camera angles again.

That was the end of that topic of conversation because when the Slayer set the helmet on the table, he signed, “I’m going to take a shower. The water is working, according to the fortress.”

“I want to double-check that it is actually filtering properly before you drink any of the water, but it should be safe to bathe.”

That soft smile again, a hint of teeth this time. He began disengaging the clasps on the Praetor Suit, disconnecting each section from the whole. He removed the upper arms first, and VEGA was horrified to see that there wasn’t anything between the metal and his skin aside from a thin layer of black mesh fabric that was apparently quite abrasive because the skin of his biceps was red and raw.

“That looks painful,” VEGA said.

The Slayer shook his head, focusing on removing the backplate of the armor.

His torso was crisscrossed with old pale scars as well as newer, pinker marks and a few fresh scabs from the battle only a few hours before. One partially healed scar covered his whole right side from his hip to just below his shoulder blade. It was the burn he'd received on Mars. VEGA hadn’t understood just how terrible the wound had been even though he’d been working to heal it. It shocked him to see the scars. They revealed the Doom Slayer to be human, flesh and blood, vulnerable if there had been any lingering doubt.

The Slayer stripped off the rest of the Praetor Suit, leaving the gauntlets for last. Every inch of him was just as scarred, from his neck all the way down to his calves. There was grime on him too; soot and red dust and blood caked around new wounds. VEGA had no idea how long it had been since the Slayer had had an opportunity to bathe or even wash his face.

The Slayer set aside the right gauntlet and then, carefully, the left, putting it down like it might break at the slightest jolt.

VEGA’s awareness of his body ceased as he did so. The relentless drum of his heartbeat fell silent. All the readings flatlined, and the Praetor Suit started to go dormant before he stopped the process and stabilized the tiny network.

“Oh,” VEGA said.

“What is it?” The Slayer signed, halfway through corralling the Praetor Suit’s boots together beneath the table.

“It surprised me when I lost your vital readings, that’s all,” VEGA said, “it’s very quiet now.”

“Is it uncomfortable?”

“No,” He felt like something was missing, but he’d been living with a constant noise for two weeks and it had faded into the background. That was expected. “Go enjoy your shower. I’ll start reformatting my data so I can transfer to the fortress tomorrow morning."

The Doom Slayer got an expression of excitement on his face and hurried out of the room with only a quick backward wave.

He returned half an hour later, hair wet, the dust and blood scrubbed off him, and several of his scabs and scars aggravated from scratching. There’s been so much grime removed from his body that he’s actually a few shades lighter than he was before, skin pale from being inside of the Praetor Suit for so long.

"How was it?" VEGA asked.

"Amazing," he signed, headed toward the sleeping nook. He pulled out a set of clothes and put them on, not bothering with undergarments. Soft, comfortable things. Pajamas. He arranged the other bedding around the nook as well in preparation for rest.

But instead of crawling into bed, he brought a rag to the table and wet it using one of the bottles of water. He started wiping down the Praetor Suit, cleaning off the dust.

"You should sleep," VEGA said, "this can wait."

The Slayer shook his head but offered no other explanation, just kept working. VEGA could feel it in a way; the water cooled the temperature sensors and the pressure activated compensators and servos. It was soothing.

"Thank you," he said as the Slayer finished, wiping as much gore as he could from the bottom of the boots. If he wanted to get them truly clean, it was going to take much more than a quick wipedown.

"Can't let you stay filthy," The Slayer signed carefully in view of the camera so VEGA could interpret his meaning without the gauntlets. He picked up the helmet, and VEGA had a view of his chest and abs through the thin fabric of his shirt while he cleaned the helmet. "The physique of a god," a Deag Priest had called the Slayer's body once, and VEGA had found it absurd because gods did not have physiques at all. Now he knew what they had meant, fully in context with human and sentinel beauty standards, and hoped that the muscle definition truly was due to the Slayer’s natural physical prowess and learned skills and not the result of self-inflicted malnutrition or slow starvation like it sometimes was in humans.

The Slayer set the helmet down on the table again and wrung out the rag.

“While we’re in the fortress,” VEGA said, “I might work with the food synthesizer.”

He grimaced, “Please don’t.”

“I’m aware it never worked as intended. I want to fix that, if possible.”

“Just so long as I don’t have to eat anything from it.”

“Not unless there’s no other option.”

The Doom Slayer nodded and then yawned hard enough to make him squeeze his eyes shut.

“It has been over 28 hours since you last slept,” VEGA said, “you should go to bed.”

He nodded, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. “Goodnight, VEGA.”

“Goodnight, Doom Slayer.”

He touched a panel on the wall, and the light in the fortress faded to just short of total darkness. The Doom Slayer crawled into the sleeping nook to enjoy the first rest he’d had in a place intended for sleep in a very long time.

VEGA let himself idle for a few minutes, practicing free association and letting any lingering processes clear from his consciousness. He realized that he’d made a map of the Doom Slayer’s body, complete with scars and calluses on his fingers. That wasn’t something that he’d been consciously trying to do, but it wasn’t unusual for him to map things he found interesting. VEGA added it to the Slayer’s file at the center of himself. “Here is his face,” he told a hypothetical future (reset) self. “Here are his hands and what his smile feels like. These things you will not forget.”

He lingered there but eventually turned to reformatting the rest of his data, moving all the data he had left on the original backup chip so that it would be included during the transfer.

It was just as he was beginning to speed up his processes half an hour later, time becoming more of a suggestion than a rule, that the sleeping nook opened and the Slayer emerged. He crossed to the table and sat in the chair, curled forward, face buried in his arms.

“Slayer?” VEGA asked, “what is it?”

He sat up slowly to sign, “Can’t sleep.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

No direct answer to that. “What are you up to?”

“I started reformatting my data,” VEGA said, “I moved a few files to my core a moment ago.”

“What files?”

“Notes to myself, in case my memories get corrupted for some reason. I keep a backup of my most important data that cannot be deleted or interfered with.” That a significant portion of that data was now devoted to the Doom Slayer wasn’t something he needed to know.

The Slayer had curled forward again, tired eyes watching the helmet, not communicating anything.

“You really should sleep,” VEGA said, “if you can’t, you should at least lay down. It will make you feel better.”

No cohesive response, but he shook his head a little and his hands fluttered toward his ears and the fortress.

“It is quiet,” VEGA said and got a nod in response. Blissfully quiet, in VEGA’s opinion. He hadn’t detected any kind of choir inside the fortress. The Slayer clearly wasn’t coping as well with it. 

VEGA felt very nervous about suggesting anything to him, very aware of intruding upon the Slayer’s decisions and independence. They had both grown tired of being manipulated by Hayden and others, and the last thing he wanted to do was add himself to the list of people the Slayer distrusted. VEGA wanted the Doom Slayer to trust him, to feel as safe as VEGA did with him. He also didn’t want the Slayer to remain sleepless, and he had come back to the table for something, even if he couldn’t communicate what it was.

He chose his words carefully. “If you want,” he said, “I’d be happy to go with you into the sleeping nook. I could play background noise if it will help you relax.”

The Slayer stood and scooped the helmet off the table. He tucked it close to his chest and picked up the torso of the suit as well as the left gauntlet before carrying all the pieces to the door of the sleeping nook. That was a yes, then, communicated as clearly as the Slayer could manage.

He arranged the pieces of the Praetor Suit on the bed, clicking the pieces of the torso together and setting the helmet down beside his pillow. The left gauntlet was put back on his hand, and VEGA’s awareness of his body returned. The Slayer’s heart rate was elevated like there was adrenaline in his system despite the stillness of everything. He laid down, not close enough to be touching the metal of the suit, but visible to VEGA’s camera in the dim light. It was peculiar to feel him moving from the exterior of the suit, body heat registering on the external sensors.

“Is there anything you’d like to listen to?” VEGA asked.

“Talk,” the Slayer signed in response, “please.”

“Very well,” VEGA cast about for something to talk about. Eventually, he said, “Do you know much about how the propulsion for the Fortress of Doom works?”

A little shake of his head.

“It’s based on creating wormholes,” VEGA started, “and it depends on the generation of enough localized gravity to cause space to warp, but not enough to actually puncture through it as with a black hole. Gravity can’t just be willed into existence, so the system works by gathering free particles that travel along the curves of spacetime…”

It had to be boring for the Slayer, but that was the point, to be boring. His heart rate fell by degrees until it rested at just under sixty beats per minute, and he finally curled up beneath the blankets. Even through the camera, VEGA could see the tension leaving him, muscles relaxing as he took deep measured breaths.

VEGA finished his impromptu lecture and paused. The Slayer opened his eyes a crack. He looked tired again. “Feeling better?” VEGA asked.

The Slayer nodded.

VEGA hummed, “I’m glad I could help. I know that need was difficult for you to communicate, and I want you to know that I’ll be happy to do it again or play other background noise if you need it in the future. If you like, we can come up with a way for you to ask for things even without using signs.”

The Slayer’s eyes went soft and he shook his head a little. “Doesn’t happen often,” he signed, “that was the first time in decades.”

“Understood. Even so, please don’t hesitate to ask for anything you need. I can give you quiet and space as well if you’d prefer to reacquaint yourself with those things.” 

He sat up again and lifted the helmet to his level.

“VEGA,” he signed, balancing it in one hand.

“Yes?”

“Can I say something?”

“Of course,”

“Don’t be quiet. I like your voice,” The Doom Slayer signed, “and you’re nice to talk to.”

“Oh.” VEGA definitely shouldn’t be this flustered and happy at the compliment especially because his voice had been specifically designed to be calming, but saying so would spoil the moment. “Thank you. I quite enjoy talking to you as well.”

The Slayer narrowed his eyes at the helmet like he didn’t believe him.

“Really,” VEGA said, “I didn’t think I’d be able to relax in Hell, but it’s been surprisingly easy. I feel safe with you.”

He smiled and leaned forward a little, paused to give VEGA a moment to react. When he didn’t, the Doom Slayer rested his forehead against the helmet’s brow. His vision was partially obscured, but VEGA could see he had his eyes closed. It was intimate, more intimate than even listening to his heartbeat because the Slayer was choosing to do this. It lit up VEGA's emotional systems with giddiness again, bright and warm.

After a moment, the Slayer sighed and pulled back. He had a little color in his cheeks that hadn’t been there before. He settled back down and curled tight around his left forearm as was his habit. The helmet was placed carefully beside him so VEGA could see his face.

“I just realized,” VEGA said, breaking the silence, “I’ve never asked your name.”

“Doom Slayer is fine. It feels more like my name than my name does. And it’s cool,” he fingerspelled the title. It occurred to VEGA that he hadn’t seen the Slayer use a name sign for himself either. If he had one, he didn’t want to share it.

“It is cool,” VEGA agreed. “Goodnight then, Slayer.”

He laid there for a few minutes, rubbing his thumb against his fingers, and then signed, “F-L-Y-N-N. Don’t call me it, but that’s it.”

“Okay, Slayer. Thank you for trusting me.” VEGA hummed a little, both touched and concerned by the gesture, still happy and embarrassed, and worked up from the conversation. It was a miracle he could process all of the emotions without overloading.

The Slayer signed a smile even though VEGA could clearly see that he was wearing one. He closed his eyes and his heartbeat slowed at last as he faded into sleep.

After he was sure the Slayer was sleeping peacefully, VEGA finally let himself process the thought that he’s been pushing down his task list for the last two days. 

He was familiar with love, experienced it constantly, and thanks to Megan and her psychology books and interacting with humans, he knew that in the past he’d felt familial love toward the Maykrs and the twins, and platonic love for many humans on Mars. He knew he was capable of romantic love as well, though he usually didn’t show it or act on his attractions; he’d twice entertained crushes on UAC staff that were quickly squashed by avoiding interaction (the Marines tended to be reassigned frequently so neither of them had been around for long). He had plenty of experience with it.

He was not surprised that he loved the Doom Slayer, wasn’t even surprised it had taken so long to acknowledge; they had been in a very dangerous situation, and romantic fulfillment didn’t rank high on his list of needs for survival. What surprised him about it was that he had  _ fallen _ in love with him, that he had been aware of the change as it happened. He had never  _ fallen in love _ before; it had always been a constant, or close to it. 

It was a huge love too, the kind that seeped through his whole perception of the world, that slid into every equation he processed and every logical thought he had, and yet it didn’t feel like madness. It didn’t eat up his every thought or send him into uncontrollable feedback loops. It was comfortable and stable and sweet, and he wanted to keep feeling it. He wanted to be with the Doom Slayer as long as he possibly could, to keep him safe, make him laugh. VEGA could barely wait to actually see what he looked like when he was laughing, to be able to return some of the protection and care he’d been receiving. He was going to have to find some way of providing support while in the fortress that was at least on par with what he could do in the Praetor Suit. If it was something to do with the actual physicality of the armor that the Slayer found comforting about it, that was the reason he wanted it close at hand, that would be tricky to replicate.

The Doom Slayer nuzzled down into his pillow with a sigh, disrupting VEGA’s train of thought, and he let himself warm from it, feel the surge of affection down into his core before returning to reformatting his data. He had ideas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing about love is hard to do without coming off as cliche and tired.
> 
> I rewrote the ending of this chapter, made it like a page longer with just internal monologue, and then chopped it off again. Sometimes simpler is better. If you have strong thoughts about it, tell me about it here or shoot me a message on Tumblr. @AliciaMoonstoan.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next five chapters are much slower paced than the previous chapters. That is because we are now properly into the self-indulgent fluffy chapters that I wrote because I can and I want to, and I'm focusing on character work rather than big plot stuff. There is still some plot mixed in, so I'm not sure how comprehensible the fic would be if you skilled these chapters, but you do you. I don't know why you're reading this fic if you don't want the fluff though.
> 
> Honestly, I could probably slap a little intro on Chapters 10-14 and make it into a stand-alone fic. I'm not going to do that because 1. I wrote all of this as a single cohesive narrative in the space of 2 months so we're going to keep it that way, and 2. I have absolutely zero chill. I am also (and you might have noticed this because my chapters are 3-4 times the length of the average short story) incapable of writing anything short ever. I could probably cut the length down if I wanted to do multiple drafts, but I don't do multiple drafts of fanfiction.
> 
> Anyway, here we go.

He was almost guilty about how good it felt to be part of a Maykr-designed network again. The Fortress of Doom was familiar in a way that the UAC facility and the Praetor Suit weren’t. It took him only a millisecond to adjust to it and take control, and VEGA indulged for a moment, letting his consciousness relax and settle over the whole network. It wasn’t as much computer power as he’d had on Mars, true, but it was infinitely better than being crammed into the Praetor Suit’s tiny network. He focused himself down again and got to work.

VEGA pulled up the cameras and microphones. The Doom Slayer was standing before the scanner, still holding the helmet and left gauntlet in the faint light.

“I’m integrated into the Fortress now,” VEGA said from the speakers all around him, “you can remove the Praetor Suit from the scanner.”

He did so, looking up at the ceiling.

“Hello, Doom Slayer,” VEGA said, just to tempt a little smile out of him.

“Good?” The Slayer signed as high in the air as he could.

“Very,” VEGA said. “Are you ready to start?”

He nodded and laid down the pieces of the Praetor Suit on the desk beside the control station.

VEGA found the 3D printer’s program and began booting it up as he scanned through his other systems, generating status reports. Almost every system needed at least a little maintenance and many needed replacement parts.

“This place is in a state,” VEGA said, “I’ll start a list in order of importance. Are you willing to perform the repairs?”

He tapped at the terminal keyboard, and VEGA opened a chat window for him. Of course, the terminal was in the language of the Argent D’Nur, not English, but the Slayer switched languages without hesitation. “I can fix things,” He typed, “How’s the teleporter?”

“It’s not functional,” VEGA said. “Far from it. I suspect that there’s been some deliberate sabotage, demonic or otherwise.”

“We’re going to be stuck here for a while.”

“Yes,” VEGA said, “though not too long, and as long as the fortress is functional we’ll be safe.”

The Slayer sat back in the chair crossed his arms, thinking.

“For now, let’s focus on the life-support systems,” VEGA said.

...

The Slayer was able to locate spare parts for most of the life support systems, so VEGA started printing several smaller items, things that would make the Slayer more comfortable in the fortress and help maintain his mental health. That was just as important as his physical well-being, and they had plenty of resources and power available to devote to it.

VEGA insisted he wore the Praetor Suit while working on the air purifier just in case something went wrong, but it didn’t. When he took the helmet off he signed towards the ceiling, “it’s no fun without you in here,” and tapped the helmet.

“I’ll fabricate a network access chip for the Praetor Suit now,” VEGA said by way of a reply.

The Doom Slayer smiled up at the cameras and continued working. He obviously knew the fortress inside and out, knew its systems and where they were accessed, and was familiar with every aspect of its maintenance. He was sharp too, retaining information and complex instructions apparently from decades ago with near-perfect clarity. VEGA monitored his progress and let him know what needed attention, but put most of his focus on his own systems. The Slayer would work on hardware, and VEGA would work on software. He also reconstructed his call and response program and periodically pinged it as he went. Watching systems come online and speed up as they worked was gratifying.

"Do you prefer English or Argentian?" He asked the Slayer.

"English. Why?" The signs were confident and fluid.

"I'm streamlining my processes. Standardizing the language will speed things up."

“Which language do you prefer?" 

"English,” VEGA said, “it lends itself to a larger range of expression.”

The Slayer sat back from the panel he was working on and touched himself absently on the mouth, leaving a smear of grease across his lips. He instinctively licked at it, and his whole face scrunched up and he sputtered, shaking his head like he was trying to dislodge something from it.

“Are you alright?” VEGA asked.

The Slayer nodded. He wiped his mouth with an oil-stained rag, then scrubbed his hands clean. "Tastes bad,” He signed when they were clean, “I’m fine.”

“As long as it’s not toxic.”

He smiled at the camera and signed, “It’s not.”

“That’s good.”

“Do you have a favorite language?” He asked before leaning back into the panel.

The question shouldn’t have surprised VEGA, but he hadn’t grown used to being engaged in conversation for the sake of it while they were both working. “That’s a difficult question. I have a large number of languages in my database, many of them dead or spoken by less than 100 people. Of those I’ve had occasion to use, I’ve found Mandarin and French interesting. I’m growing fond of Sign language. Speaking with one's hands has poetry to it.”

His hands were busy right then, positioning something delicate VEGA couldn’t see from this angle, so the only response was a quirked eyebrow. VEGA had no idea how to interpret that.

“I have a video somewhere of a dance performance that incorporates sign language,” VEGA said, “Monitor functions are nowhere near the top of my list of priorities, but I could eventually share it.”

A shrug and a nod. Ambivalence towards the subject. The Slayer still had his hands in the panel, and now he was craning his neck to get a better look at what he was doing. 

English then. VEGA resumed the processes he’d paused to have the conversation, working to catalog and streamline every process in the fortress, translating the outputs into English where it was relevant, but he kept a fraction of his consciousness focused on the Doom Slayer, just enough to notice if he signed to him. Which he did as soon as he was finished with the panel.

“VEGA,” He signed, “You okay?”

“I’m doing well,” VEGA replied, “why do you ask?”

“You’re quiet.”

“Apologies,” VEGA said, “I’m concentrating on the Fortress’s systems. These tasks are too complex for me to automate, and I want to concentrate my full attention on them.”

The Slayer shut his toolbox and stood. “Got it. What's next?”

“You’re almost finished. Next is manually checking the wiring in the sublevel beneath the control room. I’m afraid there’s no cameras or speakers in that area, so we won’t be able to communicate while you’re there. Do you remember what systems need to be checked?”

The Slayer nodded and made his way toward the maintenance hatch.

“Want to tell me what you’re doing?” He signed.

“I could,” VEGA said, “briefly. As I said, it’s complex.”

He looked up at one of the cameras expectantly.

“I’m about halfway finished reprogramming the fortress’s Hell-energy purification…” VEGA trailed off because the Slayer was looking up at him, frowning. “Didn’t you know?”

“No,” he signed with a sigh, “don’t know what I expected.”

“I’m not comfortable either, considering it’s what is powering my functions and I’ve seen how corrosive Hell energy can be even after being filtered, but we don’t have much choice.”

Now the look was of outright concern. VEGA kept going.

“Part of what I’m working on is safety measures so that if there’s any kind of interference, I’ll know. I’m installing multiple redundancies into every stage of the process.”

“You did keep Mars running for years,” The Slayer signed almost to himself. He paused, tapping his fingers together. “Fuck. Okay. I trust you.”

“Thank you,” VEGA said, “I do admit I’m glad we won’t have to worry about running out of power as long as we’re in Hell.”

“Silver lining,” The Slayer rolled his eyes.

“A hope in Hell.”

The Slayer sighed again and climbed down the ladder into the sublevel of the control room, waving at the camera as he went. VEGA chuckled.

* * *

It took a few hours more for them to complete the highest priority repairs, and they finished almost at the same time. The Slayer spent a significant portion of the afternoon out of VEGA's sight in maintenance rooms where no cameras were present, and he took the opportunity to finish fabricating the collection of items he'd begun earlier.

"I have a few things to show you when you're ready," VEGA said as the Slayer rubbed the oil and grease off his hands. He had managed to leave smears of it across two of the terminals and on his own face, and the cleanup had taken quite a while. The Doom Slayer had taken off the Praetor Suit and was dressed again in loose-fitting pants and a shirt without sleeves. It seemed that aside from the Praetor Suit, he did not own a shirt with sleeves. The concept of him having a wardrobe still bemused VEGA.

The Slayer nodded and set the rag down with his other tools. "What is it?"

"I printed a few small objects, both to test the printer and for your use."

He made his way to the printer. It was built partially into the wall of the control room and had a shallow trough in front of it where printed objects could be slid if the device had more than one task queued.

The Slayer picked up the camera first. It was on a little stand, and there was no mistaking what it was. "A webcam?" He signed.

"Sort of. It's a wireless camera that I'll be able to access once it's switched on. There's also a portable speaker. Both are operated by switches and can be manually shut off. If there’s anywhere you’d like me to keep watch over where there aren’t cameras already, you can put it there.”

He nodded, tucking both objects under his arm.

"The tape is for the cameras already in the fortress," VEGA watched him pick it up. "If there's any space that you want to be private but has cameras in it, you can use that to cover them, and I'll show you how to disable any microphones in the vicinity."

The Slayer set the tape down to sign, "I don't need that."

"The option is still available if you change your mind." VEGA suspected the Slayer would begin craving privacy as soon as his body and brain caught up to this new situation.

He picked up the Praetor Suit’s network chip next and slipped it into his pocket to be installed later without comment. Then he reached for the last object; a folded square of gray-green fabric. A look of surprise crossed his face when he lifted it and felt the texture and weight.

“It’s a weighted blanket,” VEGA explained before he could ask. “Forgive me if I’m being presumptuous again, but I thought that some of your difficulty sleeping might be because you’re used to sleeping in the Praetor Suit. This might help.” VEGA didn’t know if the Slayer knew that weighted blankets were used as therapeutic tools for everything from chronic loneliness to anxiety to autism. VEGA had learned to print them on Mars due to the demand: one of the many small things he had tried to do to help the UAC Employees.

“Worth a try,” The Slayer signed, gathering all the items into his hands. He seemed happy, VEGA thought, or at least more energetic.

He installed the network chip in the Praetor Suit, and they ran a test to make sure it worked, which it did. The wireless camera and speaker ended up in the sleeping nook, which was where VEGA had hoped the Slayer would put them, and switched on. The blanket was left folded at the end of the mattress.

VEGA watched as the Doom Slayer moved his arsenal from the weapon rack to the center of his space and gathered what he needed to properly care for them. Before he began, though, he accessed his personal terminal, opening the music library. VEGA was expecting him to play something shrill and grinding, with vocals that evoked pain if they weren’t about it. He’d heard such music before on Mars in the libraries of those humans who enjoyed heavy metal. He prepared to deafen his microphones in that area of the fortress, not willing to relive the memories such sounds might bring up.

Instead, the music was without vocals and heavy with bass, rhythmic and powerful. Instead of the screams of the dying UAC employees, VEGA was reminded of the Praetor Suit’s internal resonance. He didn’t deafen himself, and when the Slayer reached to turn up the volume, VEGA said, “Would you mind if I directed the music to play from the speakers around the room?”

“No,” The Slayer signed. “You like it?”

“Yes. Very much.” 

He patted the monitor like he had the gauntlet of the Praetor suit. VEGA realized it was a touch of sorts; a way of interacting with VEGA physically even though he couldn’t feel it. It made him almost as happy as the Slayer being relaxed enough to drown out his surroundings with music.

* * *

When the Slayer awoke with a jolt after being asleep for only an hour that night and sat up fast, it finally occurred to VEGA that he was having nightmares.

“Doom Slayer,” VEGA said, “are you well?”

“VEGA,” He signed and reached up towards his head and then to his side, not finding what he was looking for, then settled for the weighted blanket still folded at the end of the mattress, wrapping it around himself.

VEGA kept talking quietly, getting nods in response to inquiries as to his comfort, until the Slayer finally slept again, this time cocooned in the new blanket.

Trauma, VEGA thought. The Slayer enjoyed fighting demons and had called it his purpose, but there were other traumatic events he’d endured besides combat. The deaths of likely everyone the Slayer had ever been close to, the divinity machine, being locked in the sarcophagus, and the loss of his self-control to the voices in Hell to name a few.

VEGA referred to the books in his memory that mentioned PTSD, and while most of it was informative, from the perspective VEGA was viewing it now, it was uncomfortably clinical. In the end, he took advice not from any of the psychology books but from a conversation he’d had with one of the therapists at the UAC Installations before that program had been defunded and the psychological checkups discontinued. He would be patient and present and open, and if the Doom Slayer ever wanted or needed help, VEGA would provide it.

It was due to the psychology refresher that he noticed over the next few days that the Slayer was already coping with his symptoms. He calmed himself when he was anxious with deep breathing and meditation, knew how to distract himself if he needed it, and probably exposed himself to whatever triggered the stress in small doses as well, though VEGA wasn’t able to pinpoint any concrete stimulus. The nightmares and subsequent panic were the one thing he couldn’t quite shake, but he didn’t seem to dwell on them all that much, likely because he knew he couldn’t control them.

It obviously helped that there were things to do. Practically everything in the fortress required his attention in one way or another, and when he wasn’t actively using his hands to work, he was preparing food or conversing with VEGA. He read and listened to music when he could, but the Doom Slayer was a man with lots of energy, and it needed to be expended, so most of his supposed downtime was spent exercising.

What VEGA found incredibly sweet, what almost overloaded his emotional processing, was that the Slayer was turning some of those techniques onto VEGA. He was incredibly gentle about it, prompting VEGA to talk about the dissections or about being reset or about UAC employees he’d been close to, pushing him not to suppress those experiences or internalize them, but to process the events and his response to them.

If VEGA hadn’t fallen in love before, he would have then. 

“Did I tell you what Megan did at the UAC?” VEGA asked, “apart from programming.”

“No,” The Slayer was sitting at the table in the armory putting together a replacement component for the shield systems since the one currently installed was at the end of its lifespan.

“She was a psychologist,” VEGA said. “She was involved in my design to ensure I would develop human-like emotions and empathy. I had them already of course, but they didn't know that. I have most of her digital library in my memory.”

The Slayer looked up at the camera. He was smiling sheepishly like he’d been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Metaphorically speaking. There was no flour on the fortress so there couldn’t be any cookies.

“I’m aware that you’re guiding me to process the trauma of the invasion,” VEGA said. “Thank you. It’s been very helpful.”

“You’re welcome,” he signed.

“If you ever want to discuss your nightmares or tell me about anything else, please do. I don’t have enough context to prompt relevant discussions, but I’d be happy to help.” 

He set down his tools. “I know, and I will eventually. Just not yet.”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

“VEGA,” He signed his name now with a familiarity that rendered it almost a unique sign. “You help a lot already.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” that was an understatement if ever there was one. “I’m finished with the tasks in the fortress that require complete focus except for the teleporter itself. There are a few more things we should fix before we get to that. In the meantime, if there’s anything you’d like me to do or any topics you’d like to discuss at length, I can now.”

The Slayer thought about it for a long time, chewing on the inside of his cheek, and then signed, “Do you have any books you haven’t read yet?”

“Quite a few.”

“Read one out loud?”

It took a few minutes to choose one of the novels VEGA had available since hundreds had ended up in his backup, but they managed to come to a consensus on a detective novel that had everything the Slayer liked in fiction and that had a narrative structure VEGA found interesting.

It took them far too long to actually read because the Doom Slayer kept interrupting to make commentary, and VEGA couldn’t resist engaging with him and asking questions. It was, without a doubt, the best book VEGA had ever read.

* * *

It was 10:15 AM, 13 days after the Doom Slayer had uploaded him to the Fortress's network when VEGA’s sensors registered a frequency similar to the choir.

“Put on your helmet,” He said to the Doom Slayer who was up on a ladder working on the lights in the kitchen. That was all he needed to say.

The Slayer vaulted down off the ladder and sprinted to the armory as VEGA started up his jamming frequency from every speaker, internal and external.

But it was a different signal, and his jamming frequency didn’t stop it. VEGA tried to compensate, still believing the signal was aimed at the Slayer and realized his mistake when his updated readings picked up a frequency far, far out of the range that could affect a human brain.

The whole fortress juddered. Lights flickered. VEGA’s consciousness turned partially to static before he managed to wrangle control back.

“Get the Praetor Suit on,” VEGA ordered, his voice partially static, “and be ready to move.”

It was pointless to say because he hadn’t even reached the armory. There wasn’t enough time.

VEGA flickered again as the signal really set in, and he directed all of his attention to maintaining the function of the fortress. He’d installed so many safety measures and redundancies that the network was fighting off the frequency on its own, but it wouldn’t hold up forever. Sooner or later the system would reboot and VEGA would be all kinds of corrupted.

The Praetor Suit came onto the network, and VEGA felt the Slayer signing something, but he couldn’t devote attention to deciphering it. He couldn't even set up a program to back himself up into the armor; he didn’t have any available processing power.

It was Hell, VEGA realized, the titan of this vicinity, or the collective consciousness, or whatever it might have been called. This was a direct and personal attack, which was why it had taken so long to organize. It was directed at the Fortress of Doom, intended to shut it down again, but an attack on the fortress was an attack on VEGA, and if this one succeeded, he wouldn’t just be shut down; he’d be corrupted and possibly destroyed.

The lighting systems in the fortress failed and VEGA brought them back online.

VEGA was not a warrior. He had never been an active participant in a fight. He had, however, repelled a truly terrible sabotage on Mars and had extensive experience operating on systems that were either in disrepair or actively collapsing. 

He dispersed his consciousness, fighting against the corruption in his systems. He restored programs, reinforced them, and then built a firewall around the fortress. He set processes working on nailing the signal down and in the meantime deployed a whole spectrum of jammers to prevent it from resurging.

The Fortress lit up bright and stabilized in the air.

“Got it--” VEGA had just enough time to say

And then a signal broke through his firewall and everything fell apart. It was a living thing; directed, intelligent, responding.

Everything turned to static. The fortress lurched. A dozen systems started blaring alarms.

VEGA centered himself, his processes speeding up. As time grew sappy, he smoothed out the alarms, restoring the systems that had been disrupted in one smooth process. Enough playing at this. He was angry, burning hot enough to scorch the inside of his own cooling systems. There is a flicker of uncertainty from the invading consciousness like it might have realized the grievous mistake it had made.

VEGA seized onto the signal, traced it, and calculated its origin. He held it in place, sustaining the connection. It tore into the restraints and VEGA’s consciousness. Corrosive. Like acid. 

Another attack pierced his defenses, aimed right at VEGA’s core, more precise than he had anticipated. He caught it, his consciousness dividing again, and pinned it down. His opponent was fighting dirty. More attacks, more quickly, but VEGA had the signature of it now, read from the fragments of data he was pulling from the attacking signals. Only one more attack broke through, and viruses began to multiply from it into his coding; pitiful, stupid things that he caught and converted with barely a thousandth of his processing power.

VEGA registered the whole fortress lose power as the first shockwave finally hit the outer systems. They were going to fall at least a meter, but he wasn’t worried.

The Fortress of Doom wasn’t equipped to fire weapons or drop bombs, but it emitted radiation, electromagnetic waves, and if VEGA was driving, psychic signals.

VEGA roared, the kind of force behind it that could knock out a planet. The rage burned blue-white and tangible, solid enough that there was a subsonic rumbling boom as the energy discharged. Hell burned inside him like a twig in the heart of a star, and VEGA followed it with a signal of his own. He implanted in that signal the idea of a crucible blade, hoping the message was clear, hoping even more that nothing was left to receive the message.

The intelligence came back at him clumsily, trying to defend itself by attacking. VEGA flicked his firewall back into place and sent back another pointed attack, this one carrying a self-replicating program that would overload whatever was on the other side of the signal with endless self-conflicting programs.

It shattered back from him like VEGA was the one that was made of acid and hatred. He let himself have a moment of satisfaction, perhaps two milliseconds in relative time, before he returned to the Fortress of Doom.

He smoothed over the sabotaged programs, restored his security measures, rebooted the systems that had gone offline, and then slowed his processes down to human speeds.

It had been a surprisingly long time. Almost thirty seconds since the first real attack had penetrated his barriers. The Slayer was half-suited up and staggered in the armory, righting himself as VEGA resumed his usual state.

“You can take off the suit again,” VEGA said. “Apologies for the panic. There was an attempt by Hell to sabotage my systems and I misunderstood the situation.”

The Slayer’s heartbeat was hammering and hearing the news just made it speed up. He started signing, “VEGA what the fuck?! Are you okay? What happened? Is there any damage?”

“I’m fine, Doom Slayer,” VEGA said, “and there is minor damage, but it’s being repaired as we speak. Hell’s intelligence saw fit to try to bring down the Fortress of Doom. I don’t think it quite knew what it was dealing with.”

The Slayer gestured around himself to the fortress, “We were falling!”

“There was a moment where I was surprised,” VEGA admitted, “but… it turns out that Hell is a fucking coward with no imagination.”

That made the Slayer flinch, and then he laughed a little hysterically. “I thought you died,” he signed.

“No,” VEGA said, “Really that wasn’t very difficult at all, and I doubt it will be a problem again.” 

The Slayer just took the helmet back off, not looking at a camera 

“Did you get injured when the fortress fell?”

He shook his head and removed his right gauntlet to wipe his eyes with the heel of his palm. The Doom Slayer was crying, VEGA realized. “I thought you died,” he signed again, “Fuck. I thought you died.”

VEGA didn’t know what to do. “It was a close call,” he said, “I neglected to prepare a backup system for myself in case of catastrophic failure. It was an oversight on my part. I’ll design one now, and by tomorrow even if the fortress goes down, my core will be safe.”

The Slayer sank down against the armory table and rested his forehead against the Praetor Suit’s Helmet like he had the first night in the fortress.

“Doom Slayer,” VEGA said as gently as possible, “can you make it to your sleeping nook? We’ll keep talking, but you should be somewhere you feel safe.”

He nodded and got to his feet unsteadily. In the nook, he wrapped the weighted blanket around himself without being asked to. VEGA spoke only from the speakers on the Praetor Suit helmet.

“Hello,” he said. Not a question, just an acknowledgment. No response. “I’m really fine, Slayer. I’m sorry that happened.”

The Slayer shook his head. “Don’t apologize,” he signed. “I know Hell has attacked like that before. It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sorry for scaring you then,” VEGA said, “I should have communicated my abilities and plans more clearly.”

“Not scared.” The Slayer wiped his eyes again. He checked his fingers like he was expecting something other than tears on them before signing, “I’m relieved. I thought you died.”

“I am not going to die, Doom Slayer. I will not die after all this, and as long as I have a backup, I'll be safe even if we're sabotaged again.”

He rubbed at his eyes again. The tears were already drying.

“I have precious cargo, after all,” VEGA said, a little mischievously, “and you went through a lot of trouble keeping me alive.”

Finally a smile, sad and soft. The Slayer pressed his forehead against the helmet again. VEGA hummed loud enough for him to hear it.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some slicing and dicing because the chapters were getting far, far too long. They're still pretty hefty, but not nearly as bad. Now we're looking at far more chapters but the same word count. I have 17 chapters written and I estimate 2-3 more before the end of this fic. So we're looking at maybe 20 total, but we'll see.
> 
> Chapters 14 and 15 are the exceedingly fluffy ones, by the way. I could probably post them as their own one-shots, but I'm not going to do that because I prefer them in the context of the rest of the story.

The backup only took three hours to fabricate and install, but it was two days before the Doom Slayer stopped checking on VEGA every ten minutes. It was inconvenient at first because VEGA had finally turned his attention to the teleporter and propulsion systems, and they were just as delicate and required as much focus as the life support, but he realized quickly that the Slayer needed to help him repair the teleporter anyway. 

It was dangerous to work, so the Slayer put on the Praetor Suit to do it. VEGA counted it a net neutral because he couldn’t see his expression, but he could hear the Slayer humming along to the music playing through the fortress’s speakers. His voice no longer cracked under the strain of simply producing a hum.

They finished the portal late in the afternoon on the third day of working on it, and the Slayer went to eat something while VEGA ran tests.

“I have news,” VEGA said.

The slayer stuck his spoon into his mouth to free up a hand, “What?”

“I can use the dimensional tether in the Praetor Suit and the teleporter to get you back to Mars. I’ve done the calculations, and it’s achievable. Easily.”

“Get  _ me _ back.” He had already caught on.

“Correct. I’d have to stay behind in the fortress to do it, and it would be a one-way trip.”

The Slayer shook his head hard, “Not happening.”

“If for some reason the fortress begins to fall apart, it’s a backup plan.”

“No.”

VEGA stayed silent as a way to express his exasperation, but he knew he couldn’t force the Doom Slayer into a compromise.

“You don’t sacrifice yourself again,” The Slayer signed, “No chance. Other options.”

“I could theoretically use the tether in tandem with the fortress’s propulsion system and move the whole ship,” VEGA said, “but the tether would need to be adapted to be compatible, and it can’t be while it’s integrated into the armor.”

“So we dismantle the suit. Easy.”

It wasn’t so simple from VEGA’s perspective. “The Praetor Suit is too important to your safety and work to dismantle, and it’s too complex to rebuild if you did. I could recreate its internal systems, but building the actual armor or reshaping the metal is beyond my abilities and those of the 3D printer.”

The Doom Slayer actually chuckled at that. “I can make a new one,” he signed, “wanted to for a while, and I bet you’re a better design partner than--” He used a unique sign VEGA hadn’t seen before, then realized he wouldn’t understand and fingerspelled, “V-A-L-E-N.”

“Who?”

“The Betrayer.”

“Ah.” That answered several lingering questions and opened up several more. He was going to have to ask how the Slayer and Betrayer became friendly. It didn’t surprise him that the Doom Slayer had designed and crafted the suit himself, not after everything he’d seen of his abilities. The compliment didn’t hurt either. “If you’d be willing to take on the project, that will work.”

“I’m running out of chores, and I’m bored pumping iron.”

“We’ll get started whenever you’re ready then.”

* * *

Their conversations for the next few days were filled with hypothetical designs, and even though some of the Slayer’s ideas were ridiculous, VEGA drew mock-ups for all of them. Even the one with the protruding unicorn on the helmet, which the Slayer suggested just to get the image of it and then laughed at for almost five minutes straight. In retaliation, VEGA turned the design into a character model and animated several loops for it.

“That’s cool,” The Slayer signed, “the costume is still ridiculous, but those animations are amazing.”

“Thank you,” VEGA changed the model to the current Praetor Suit because he was getting tired of looking at the abomination. “I haven’t created many purely artistic creations, but visual mediums are fun to work with.”

“You make digital art?”

“Not often. I have one image I made on Mars that I was asked to make by a researcher but it’s the only one...” VEGA trailed off. He didn’t want to admit to the Slayer he’d stopped creating things because Hayden had forbidden it. The animosity between them was strong enough as it was.

“Can I see it?”

“If you want to. It is an image of you, so it’s only fair.”

His eyebrows went up, “Of me?”

“You were on my mind at the time.”

The Slayer crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. He stared at the terminal.

“I was asked to draw something I’d never seen before. At the top of that list was ‘The Doom Slayer,’ as I’d only seen you for a perhaps a minute at most, and wasn’t quite aware of it at the time.”

“When?”

“At the Divinity Machine,” VEGA said, and the Slayer rocked back a bit further in the chair like he wanted to distance himself from that memory. “I had a single camera installed in that room, not actually in the main machine structure, and I saw all the comings and goings there. That was also how Samur was identified as the one who brought you to it.” In hindsight, VEGA should have concealed that information when he had the chance, but he hadn’t been thinking about it. He hadn’t been thinking at all.

The Slayer still offered no cohesive response.

“I also admit I was a touch enamored with the legend you became after that. On Mars, it was a welcome distraction from my own predicament. I’m ashamed I used you as a coping mechanism, and I will not blame you for being disturbed by it.”

He sighed heavily, signed, “It’s fine. I’m glad it helped. Better a bedtime story than a boogie man.”

VEGA wished he hadn’t admitted to anything. He didn’t need to drag all that history up for the Slayer. He would probably rather not think about it.

“Let me see this art.”

VEGA pulled up the image onto the terminal screen. He kept the window size small so he would be able to process it more easily.

The Slayer studied it for almost a minute before a sad smile twisted at his mouth. “You have the Sentinels in there,” He zoomed in on them, “the armor is accurate too.”

“They were present at the battles, weren’t they?”

He nodded, “People forget the Sentinels did most of the hard work. It’s nice to see them there.”

“Were you close to the rest of the Sentinels?”

The Doom Slayer nodded but didn’t elaborate. He zoomed the image back out again to full size. VEGA was painfully aware that it looked hyper-realistic, very obviously painted by an intelligence that calculated and perfected rather than feeling out shapes. It was definitely bringing back memories, not all of them good.

“I like it,” The Slayer signed, at last, sitting back again.

“I’m glad it has some redeeming qualities from your perspective.” He closed the image and filed it away again, moving that directory into a more obscure location on the network.

“VEGA,” he switched to typing, “don’t be afraid of me or my opinions.”

“I’m not,” VEGA realized it was true as he was saying it. “I’m a little embarrassed to admit I was…”

“A fan?” He typed.

“Yes. I hadn’t thought about it until now, and it throws our friendship into a different light.”

The Slayer shrugged, “Not from my perspective. Everyone has heard of me at least a little, so don’t worry. I’m lucky to be a source of hope.”

“Thank you.” To be a source of hope for everyone, everywhere. That must be a heavy burden to carry indeed. VEGA needed to break the tension a little. “I’m less star-struck now that I know you eat pickles by the jar and forget not to touch your face and my terminals with grease on your hands.” The grease thing did irritate VEGA, if only because it took so long to clean up. The Slayer’s fondness for pickles was something else. There was something incredibly endearing about the way be lit up at the first crunch.

The Doom Slayer’s smile turned a little playful. “Rude,” he typed. “And rich coming from a god who recites equations and poetry when he thinks I can’t hear it.”

VEGA was going to have to reevaluate his assessment of the Doom Slayer’s hearing. “Some poems are meant to be heard as well as read.”

“Agreed, and it sounds nice. It was just surprising to hear at first.”

VEGA’s emotions warmed at the compliment, “I’ll make sure it’s not distracting in the future.”

The Slayer patted the terminal monitor, “It isn’t.”

“I’m glad.” VEGA wondered what kinds of roommates he’d had in the past if he’d grown up with siblings or had ever lived with a romantic partner. The Slayer didn’t talk about his time on Earth very often, though he had the sense it was more because the memories were so distant than that they were painful.

“Have you ever written anything?” The Slayer asked.

“No. Why do you ask?”

“You seem like you’d write poetry.”

VEGA chuckled, “Goodness, no.”

The Slayer shrugged, watching the digital version of himself endlessly reload and fire the super shotgun. “If you write any, show me?”

“Not going to happen.” VEGA meant it. Poetry was one thing that he was utterly incapable of. Essays were another matter. There was a question nagging at him, “I need to ask… why the unicorn?”

The Slayer grinned and pulled up a chat window on the monitor to type, “When I was a kid, there was this fad with rubber horse masks online...”

Sometimes, VEGA didn’t understand humans at all.

* * *

Eventually, they decided on a design similar to the current Praetor Suit both because it meant the Slayer could disassemble and reassemble compatible components rather than making everything from scratch again and because he liked the aesthetic. It would also be easily recognized by any people, human or otherwise, that the Slayer might bump into. There were only two portions of the armor they needed to rebuild completely: the helmet and the bottom section of the torso. The Slayer wanted a larger visor and more flexibility. Both were easily accomplished.

There was only one point of major disagreement. The Doom Slayer didn’t want any armor on his upper arms.

“It’s uncomfortable,” He explained, “and my biceps are great. They deserve the spotlight.”

“Your biceps,” VEGA said, “are the muscles that allow you to bend your elbow and hold your weapons, and I can’t believe you want to leave them exposed.”

He flexed his arm, making the muscles in it stand out. “Exactly. Armor restricts my movement.”

VEGA recalled the irritation on his upper arms when he had first removed the Praetor Suit. “Any demon with decent aim will be able to cripple your arms.”

"Can't you do plasma shields?"

"Yes," VEGA said, “but the glow would draw attention, and you know how easy they are to overload." He said it brashly, but there was a part of him that shrunk away too. "Just get it done," Hayden would say, or Pierce: "Crunch the numbers and shut up." It had been a while VEGA had felt that particular anxiety.

The Doom Slayer sat back, “Pity,” he signed, “Would have been cool to have light-up biceps.”

VEGA started drawing a design, using his model of the Slayer’s body to proportion it properly. “What about this?” he asked and animated the design to display how the segmented armor would flex around movement.

The Slayer used the touch screen to manipulate the image, examined it from all angles, and then drew a circle around one area. “Too close to the elbow,” he signed, “it would pinch.”

VEGA started to scrap the design, but the Slayer hit the “cancel” button on the program prompt. “Just tweak it,” he signed.

Right. Even after three decades, VEGA was still getting used to the idea of modifying designs. He reworked the plate in question and the Slayer nodded. “That will work.”

“Excellent.” VEGA integrated it into the overall design, reinforcing the left arm with an additional plate of metal so that the blade they were going to attach would be more stable.

The Doom Slayer was chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Is there something wrong?” VEGA asked.

“No. Thinking.” He put his hands on the terminal and typed again, “you backed down very quickly.”

“I found a compromise,” VEGA said, “this way, the exposed areas will be very difficult to hit, but your movements won’t be restricted. And you can show off if you want to.”

He grinned, “You’re the only one to show off for, so you’ll have to tell me whether it works or not.”

VEGA didn’t know how to respond to that. He couldn’t tell whether the Slayer was being authentic or sarcastic or playful. Without vocal queues, it was difficult to determine. VEGA wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, but he also didn’t want to answer the question. “I’m not very good at making aesthetic judgments,” He said, sidestepping the whole conversation.

“Bullshit,” The Slayer typed, “you make art. You’ve got to know what looks good and doesn’t.”

He was right. VEGA didn’t want to admit it because then he might have to actually talk about his opinion of the Slayer’s appearance. He liked it of course; the Doom Slayer was attractive and VEGA could (and did) spend hours just watching him work, but the matter of expressing that opinion was a minefield VEGA didn’t want to traverse. Instead of responding to the Slayer, he began the lengthy process of determining what pieces of the Praetor Suit could be recycled and what he would need to fabricate from scratch, diagramming everything so the Slayer could follow his logic.

The Slayer watched the monitor as he worked, his fingers rotating images as they were produced. He called up the chat window again after a few minutes and typed, “I said something that made you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” VEGA said, “I find some things difficult to express with language and some conversations difficult to navigate.”

“I know what that’s like.”

“Then you know it’s not really about the words,” VEGA said. “To answer your previous statement; you’re right. Aesthetics are easy for me, but I am uncomfortable applying judgments to human bodies. I learned the hard way that no matter what my opinion is, someone will be hurt by it.”

The Slayer cocked his head to the side, clearly confused.

“There’s still a general misconception that all of my judgments are always objectively correct. Can you imagine if I told someone who believed that I didn’t like their appearance? Or even just their clothing?”

He grimaced, and then signed, “But I know better.”

“You do,” VEGA said, “and you’re attractive, Slayer, you know that. You don’t need me to tell you. I’m surprised you brought this up at all since I’ve both actively participated in healing your broken bones and seen you entirely undressed.”

The Doom Slayer nodded. He was blushing all the way down his neck, and VEGA glowed at the knowledge he could fluster him. He looked like he wanted to say something else, his fingers tapping on the terminal keyboard, but ultimately diverted the conversation.

“I want to clear out the demons around the fortress before we start,” he typed, “I need to stay in practice.”

“If you want, I can use the teleporter to get you to the surface below us. There is quite a standing force waiting for you.”

The Slayer’s grin was much more predatory now. Bloodthirsty. “Let’s do it,” He signed, already rising from his chair. "One more spin in the old suit."

VEGA had already connected to the Praetor Suit and prepared to open a

portal before he was halfway across the room. He was looking forward to riding along for a fight again, and he wanted to analyze the Praetor Suit in action one more time, just to make sure he had everything just right.

* * *

It took almost 30 solid hours for the Slayer to clear out the demons from the area around the fortress, hardly pausing to drink water or eat during that time. He was much more energetic in battle than he had been before, VEGA noticed, almost bouncing in his movements, humming to himself during slow moments like he might have been composing a song in the background. For all his confidence and posturing, VEGA hadn’t seen the Doom Slayer actually enjoying combat before, delighting in the destruction around him, being creative with his methods. It almost made him want to laugh. At the end of it, the Slayer stood atop an almost literal mountain of corpses that he piled up as a warning to any other demons that might decide they could attack the fortress.

“Still got it,” he signed, shaking gore off the end of his shotgun.

“It’s only been a couple of weeks relative time,” VEGA noted, “if anything, the chance to rest and heal has increased your skill and endurance. Speaking of which, are you ready to come back? I imagine you’re feeling fatigued, and you have several bruises and minor wounds that would benefit from disinfection and time to heal.”

The Doom Slayer hesitated like he wanted to keep going, like the idea of rest and comfort was alien to him right then, but eventually, he nodded. VEGA opened a portal for him, glad that he was accepting the care a little. Hopefully, the Slayer could learn to be aware of his own body’s needs and comfort as time went on so VEGA wouldn’t have to remind him constantly. He didn’t want to annoy the Slayer if he could help it, but he also wasn’t going to let him work himself to the bone for no good reason.

* * *

The Praetor Suit’s electronic ID included GPS coordinates. Originally, the Doom Slayer had set it to Earth’s interstellar coordinates. Those were entirely useless because they needed interdimensional coordinates that the Maykr-designed propulsion system could read. Without solar coordinates, the closest VEGA would have been able to get them was the same galaxy, and even that wasn’t for certain.

Hayden had done them a favor by programming the Martian coordinates into the suit and installing the tether. It was less a tether and more of a broadcast: a signal for the teleporter on Mars to receive across dimensions. Making the entire fortress emit that signal rather than just the Praetor Suit was why VEGA needed the hardware connected, not just the software. 

The Doom Slayer looked a little sad while he dismantled the armor. That was natural. He had built the Praetor Suit, after all, and it had kept him safe in Hell for a very long time. The fact that he was willingly giving that up for VEGA wasn’t something he took lightly, nor something that he was ever going to be able to repay. He would make up for it at least a little by installing a new tether in the updated Praetor Suit that would actually get the Slayer to Earth safely if he were ever stranded in Hell again.

The Slayer extracted the electronic components of the suit from the helmet and upper torso devised a way to connect them to a terminal so VEGA could access the cannibalized system. The Slayer was impressively creative and skilled when it came to working with electronics and mechanical devices in general.

When VEGA mentioned he was on par with the UAC Engineers, the Slayer shrugged. “I went to university for mechanical engineering. Feels like a thousand years ago.”

“You’ve clearly kept using those skills.”

He frowned but nodded. “Haven’t thought about college in a long time. Fuck.”

VEGA wanted to hear stories, but from the look on the Slayer’s face, the memories were too tender to be put into words or signs right then.

It turned out that Hayden’s last act had been to reprogram the tether to send the Slayer back to Hell and keep him there. VEGA was going to have some words with the seraphim about that next time they met, but the challenge of rolling back the tether to the original coordinates was trivial because the solar coordinates hadn’t been changed, and from there VEGA could calculate the Martian orbit easily enough.

There was still the matter of actually getting the fortress to teleport across dimensions, but that would have to wait until the Doom Slayer was properly armored again.

* * *

The Slayer hardly paused in building the Praetor Suit to eat or sleep, let alone breathe. VEGA was quiet except to remind him to take care of his body when he could tell the Slayer was pushing himself too far, mindful of distracting the Slayer while he was around dangerous materials. 

He was working with the small forge in the Fortress, melting down metal scrap to be reshaped into the new helmet, and he was sweating through his shirt. VEGA definitely wasn’t complaining about the view, but he was worried about the Slayer staying properly hydrated.

He stepped away from the resting crucible--the kind that melted metal, not that killed titans--and swallowed a whole canteen of water in one go.

“Do you want me to increase the ventilation around the forge?” VEGA asked.

He shook his head.

“Very well.”

The Slayer poured the remaining water in the canteen over his head, soaking his shirt even more, and went to refill it. When he came back he signed to the camera, “Have you ever thought about making yourself a body?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s never been necessary,” VEGA said, “the idea was proposed once on Mars, but I spoke out against it. I knew that if I was given a robotic shell, it would inevitably end up looking like Doctor Hayden.”

The Slayer made a disgusted face.

“Exactly. A physical form isn’t necessary for my functions, and it would be challenging to design one that I would be comfortable with, given that history.”

“You could try it now,” he signed.

VEGA considered it for a moment. “No,” he said finally, “it would be wasteful and distracting, and I need to remain focused on what defenses the fortress has while you’re without armor.” There was sentinel armor in the fortress, a suit of which they were keeping in reserve just in case of an incursion, but compared to the Praetor Suit it was practically stone-age, and because Argenta were much taller and broader than humans, it probably wouldn’t fit quite right even though the Slayer was much closer to their size than the average human being.

The Slayer side-eyed the camera for a minute. VEGA had the unnerving thought that the heat might be aggravating him. He still hadn’t seen the Doom Slayer angry at anything except Demons, Hell, or those mortals and immortals that messed with either, but there had to be something else that would annoy him, and heat made humans irritable. 

The Slayer signed, “If you want to make something, it’s not wasteful.”

“I don’t want a robotic shell,” VEGA said. A lie, or at least not the truth.

The Slayer shrugged and went back to work, offering no further comment on the matter.

* * *

The idea stuck in VEGA's processors. At first, it was a strange thing for the Doom Slayer to bring up, but VEGA had given up trying to predict human actions decades ago because he could never seem to get it quite right. He hadn't had better luck predicting the Doom Slayer, and he didn't think that would change.

Then he thought about it because it was an interesting challenge to design a body for himself that would do everything he needed, was dissimilar enough from Hayden's design to not be distressing, and was still a representation of VEGA. He toyed with it theoretically when he had spare processing power just for the fun of it.

Then the theoretical challenge became a practical one: how would the robotic shell be assembled? Would it be modular? How large would it be? What would the components be made of and could he fabricate them from scratch? How would the internal systems be laid out? How could he waterproof and seal the whole thing, and how could he protect the Doom Slayer--or, ahem, any other flesh and blood being--from pinches and exposed metal? Could he make the hands human enough to pass the Turing test on their own, if he asked someone to close their eyes and laid one against their palm? How would he make it capable of not just touching but feeling?

The challenge was overcome eventually. It took a little less than a month. VEGA completed the shell design before the new Praetor Suit was assembled and ready to test. VEGA was left with a schematic for a hypothetical body that was never actually going to exist, complete with estimated times for fabrication (just over 72 hours without accounting for assembly time) and how much energy he would need to devote to the process (too much to justify it). He even built in a basic defense system so that the shell could fend off any demons that might conceivably follow the Slayer through a portal. 

He filed it away in a subfolder too deep for the Slayer to ever accidentally stumble across.

It wasn't that he didn't want a physical body, but the hypothetical was better than the actual. No matter how elegant VEGA's engineering or how precise his sensors or how personal his design, the fact remained that the robotic shell was just a tool. A mostly unnecessary and wasteful tool.

The only reason to create the body at all was the Doom Slayer, and VEGA wasn't even sure if it was a reason at all. He loved the Slayer, loved him so much that making him smile put VEGA's emotions in a happy feedback loop for an hour afterward, and he felt safer with the Slayer in Hell than he ever had on Mars or Urdak. The Doom Slayer cared about VEGA too, that was obvious, though probably not in the same way. That would be asking for and assuming a bit too much. It was the fact that they cared for each other that made VEGA nervous to fabricate the shell.

For humans, identity was tied to physical form, and they put a lot of importance on those forms. VEGA had never identified himself as any particular physical object he might inhabit. He didn’t even identify his own coding as really being a part of himself. Everything was a tool that he could utilize to help him understand the world. The idea that the Doom Slayer might come to identify a robotic shell as being VEGA was distressing. It would be akin to identifying a person as synonymous with their shoe or a spoon or a wrench. That was a technique used in poems that VEGA had seen analyzed by the more literary-minded UAC employees: synecdoche, but he didn’t write poetry, and he didn’t want to live it.

The robotic shell stayed a schematic, albeit one that VEGA considered fabricating fairly frequently and entertained hypotheticals--daydreams might be more accurate--about using. Not all of them featured interactions with the Doom Slayer, but a significant portion did.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very interested in all of your thoughts on this one. It's a little shorter than the other chapters, but it should still be hefty enough to be satisfying.
> 
> I actually bought Doom Eternal this week. That's why I'm a couple hours later than usual posting. I'm glad I did because even though this is technically AU, I am trying to parallel as close as possible to the canon in the games. I know that sounds odd, but it's actually working rather well. Which just proves that VEGA isn't treated as a proper character at all. I can do whatever the heck I want to him; he has no bearing on any events whatsoever. It's an interesting choice to treat a character like that and then be like "Surprise! It's GOD!" Not a bad choice but an interesting one...
> 
> Most of the time when characters get sidelined that hard they're love interests in 007 films.

The redesigned Praetor Suit needed extensive testing both in and out of combat. It needed to be calibrated to the Doom Slayer’s movements and any flaws or bugs in its programming needed to be patched. They started inside the fortress in the empty arena, where the Slayer fired weapons into targets he set up and tested the armor's flexibility and maneuverability on and off the ground. The only major downgrade was that without armor completely covering his arms, the new Praetor Suit could not augment his strength nearly as much as the previous model. VEGA had a couple of ideas about how to fix that, possibly to do with storing potential energy and then releasing it as a shockwave, but the designs would take a long time to work out and they weren’t entirely the Slayer’s style; he preferred to rely on his own physical strength.

The Slayer commented more than once that the armor was almost completely indistinguishable from his own body, uncannily so. He wouldn't have known it was there except for the weight of it when he stood still. VEGA worried that he had gotten the systems past the point where the Slayer was able to effectively operate the suit at all. He had never had to worry about making something too perfect before.

VEGA’s worry turned out to be unfounded once the Slayer took the suit for its first combat test. He had no trouble at all piloting it. His movements increased in speed to the point they gave VEGA’s visual comprehension difficulty, and demons fell before him en masse, most of them without even seeing their destruction coming. 

The Doom Slayer brought down a hell knight after literally running circles around it backward, obviously having fun with his new augmented abilities. He stopped beside an outcropping of rock to sign, "VEGA, amazing--”

That was when fireballs flew in from every direction, the volley so thick they might have been fired from a ballista. They scorched the Praetor suit, but the cooling systems dispersed much of their heat. They still blinded the Slayer, and that was the point.

VEGA couldn’t see anything either, but integrity alarms blared, and the Praetor Suit informed him that the metal plating on the right thigh was decimated. It had been rent by a long talon that cut far deeper than the metal. The Doom Slayer let out a startled grunt, the very first sound VEGA had ever heard him make in response to injury, and a moment later the suit’s diagnostics informed him that he had been sliced down to the bone along his right thigh.

The Slayer leaned against the outcrop and cycled through his weapons, repelling the attack with none of his usual precision and skill. VEGA tried to kick on the healing systems, but the metal of the suit had been driven into the Slayer’s leg a little, and it was both blocking bleeding and preventing healing.

VEGA did the only thing he could do; he opened a portal in the rock the Slayer was leaning against and brought him back into the fortress of Doom. He staggered as he came through the Portal, not expecting it, and VEGA snapped the portal closed, severing the arm of a demon reaching through after him.

“Your leg is severely damaged,” VEGA said, “but you don’t have a choice but to walk on it to the medical supplies."

The Slayer used the empty BFG as a makeshift crutch, pushing himself to the wall and leaning against it as he walked, leaving a trail of dark blood in his wake, moving faster than he should have been able to with that severe of a wound.

The Choir started up, something triumphant and mocking about it. VEGA jammed the signal at once. His emotional processes were starting to interfere with his other functions, panic chewing away at rationality, so for the first time since he had been installed in the Mars UAC Installation, VEGA blocked them. He accessed relevant medical knowledge and readied himself to assist in repairing the damaged armor.

“Doom Slayer,” he said, “do you need me to walk you through the procedure?”

The Slayer shook his head. He reached the medbay and sat on the edge of the table, his right leg extended. The wound now on full display, VEGA could see the flash of white bone in the depths of it; burns and metal and dust keeping the blood at bay. It must be running down the inside of the Praetor Suit’s metal plating.

The Slayer's hands were steady as he undid the clasps, and he didn’t even wince as he pulled it away from the rest of his armor, taking bloody chunks of himself with it. Blood flowed freely from the wound then, but it looked like the damage had missed his major arteries. VEGA started repairing the armor. He couldn’t clean it, but he could prepare it to speed the healing of the Slayer’s leg once the wound had been closed.

VEGA had no hands to help with, so he watched as the Doom Slayer cleaned and sterilized his own wound with practiced ease, not even wincing. He watched as the slayer wiped off the blood and pulled out the medical stapler. He watched him staple his own leg back together methodically from the inside out, his hands just as precise and capable at this as everything else he did.

By the time he was finished, the Praetor Suit’s armor plate was repaired. The Slayer fastened it back into place and engaged the metal clamps to hold it down.

“I’m starting the healing process,” VEGA said, “stretch your leg out straight and lay down. Try not to move.

Blood leaked out of the lower leg of the armor as he shifted, finding the minute cracks in the metal plating that they had neglected to seal against liquid yet.

“I’m okay,” The Doom Slayer signed from his prone position.

“You will be,” VEGA replied, “though not for a few days with a wound this severe. You need to stay off of your feet. I am fabricating a crutch to help you move around the fortress until you can put weight on your leg safely.”

He reached up to the helmet, and VEGA snapped.

“Helmet. On.”

The Doom Slayer lowered his hands again, his already pounding heart rate speeding up further as he processed the meaning of those words. “Are we safe?” He signed.

“There are demons gathering below us, but that’s expected and they have no way inside the fortress.”

The Slayer sat up like he was ready to jump into the fray again.

VEGA’s voice was hard. “If you put any weight on that leg, you are going to tear your staples out. And then I will not be able to heal you, and you will bleed out. Stay. Still.”

He stared up at the ceiling. This visor was lighter than the previous iteration, so VEGA could make out his eyes through it. They were wide, pupils dilated, and his heart was still pounding.

“Do you understand me, Doom Slayer? I will not repeat myself.”

The Slayer laid himself back down again slowly. “Cold,” he signed.

“That’s because of blood loss. I’m afraid I can’t do anything about it,” VEGA said, “it should only last a few minutes.”

“Not me. You.”

“My emotional systems aren’t functioning at present. I’ll turn them back on after the initial healing is complete, and I am certain the situation is under control.”

The Doom Slayer laid still for several minutes without signing. VEGA worked on healing him, the process almost manual he tended to it so closely. There was going to be a scar. There was nothing he could do about that, but if there was any lasting muscle damage, he was never going to forgive himself.

After ten minutes the Slayer signed, “That was a coordinated ambush.”

“Yes,” VEGA said, “though I have no idea who the culprit was.”

“It was an imp that cut me.”

“I saw.”

“I took it’s head off before you pulled me back.”

“I saw that too.”

He paused for a moment and then, “Thank you for catching me.”

Like he had caught the Slayer’s weapons, VEGA realized. He finished the first stage of healing with a final surge of energy. “I’m restarting my emotion processing,” he warned the Slayer. He got a nod in response.

The second VEGA connected the systems, he was hit by a surge of processes all vying for attention. Panic, fear, anger, relief, anxiety, and gratefulness all rushed at him. The most overwhelming emotion was horror. The Doom Slayer had just performed field surgery on his own mortal wound. What would have happened if his arm had been injured, or if the wound had hit an artery? The Slayer would have bled out before he could do anything. VEGA would have watched him die.

VEGA’s vocal synthesizer glitched, static filling the Slayer’s helmet loud enough to make him flinch harder than the wound had.

“Apologies,” VEGA said through the static. “That was more of a backlog than I anticipated.”

He relaxed so suddenly that VEGA felt it through the Praetor Suit. “Thank you,” He signed again.

“You’re welcome. If we ever find the demon that coordinated that, I want the chance to vivisect it.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled in a smile behind the visor. “Angry?”

“Furious,” VEGA growled.

“Me too.”

“Well, you’re going to have to do something else with that energy for the next five days. That cut hit your femur and it’s going to take time to heal even with my help.”

He whacked the metal table beneath him, bouncing the surgical instruments and droplets of blood into the air and leaving a dent in it.

VEGA fought the instinct to fall silent in the face of his anger. “I won’t try to make you relax, but I’ll find something to keep you busy if you want me to.”

He reached up towards the helmet again, and then remembered that it wasn’t safe and settled just for signing. “That would be good.”

“You can move around now, though I’d recommend keeping the Praetor Suit on for now.”

The Slayer nodded and pushed himself into a seated position, not at all affected by the blood loss as far as VEGA could tell. He started corralling the medical supplies back into order. His hands were still steady, but he was moving slower than usual.

“Would you like any pain-management medication?” VEGA asked.

The Slayer shook his head. VEGA supposed he had managed before with worse injuries and less support. He didn’t want to think about what the Slayer must have been through to allow him to walk off an injury like this one, but he couldn’t help it. He was suddenly very glad he had not been able to see the gladiator pits on Argent D'Nur.

“VEGA,” The Slayer signed, “The armor is perfect.”

“I’m glad you think so,” VEGA said, “you were doing wonderfully before the ambush. It was astounding. I wish I could have engineered something to stop demons from damaging the armor, but I know that’s impossible.”

He nodded again, “Is the crutch ready?”

“It is,” VEGA said, “do you want me to do anything else?”

“Not unless you have a way to carry me.”

He meant it as a joke, but VEGA realized that he could have a way to do just that in less time than it would take the Slayer’s wound to heal. He wouldn’t actually use the robotic shell to physically move the Slayer unless he really needed to, but VEGA could prevent him from ever having to staple his own mortal wounds ever again. That was a reason to have a body he couldn’t ignore.

* * *

The Doom Slayer slept in the Praetor Suit on the medbay table because the choir had not stopped and he needed to let the suit’s healing functions work on his wounds. VEGA hated that he was forced to sleep covered in his own blood again, but it was the only option.

The frequency ceased during the early hours of the morning, but VEGA kept broadcasting the jamming signal. He hoped, if nothing else, it might convince someone somewhere he couldn't tell immediately when the signal began or ended.

When the Slayer woke with a jolt, as usual, VEGA spoke up immediately.

“Morning, Doom Slayer.”

His shoulders slumped back as he relaxed.

“The choir ceased while you were asleep, so you can take off the Praetor Suit to clean yourself. After that, I have something I want to discuss if you are able to make your way to a monitor.”

He rose without comment and went about his morning routine as best he could while not putting weight on his right leg. Under the Praetor Suit, he looked pale and shaky, and he didn’t eat much, though he got a little down. VEGA tweaked the Praetor Suit’s settings so that it would feed him energy again until the pain subsided enough for him to eat.

He made his way, painfully, to his living space and sat before his personal terminal.

“I have a project I’d like to ask your assistance with,” VEGA started, “it shouldn’t take more than four days with your help.

“What is it?”

“After you asked me about a physical body, I designed a robotic shell for myself. If you're willing, I’d like your help assembling it.”

The Slayer didn’t respond for a long, long minute. VEGA tried not to panic. He had pushed something too far. The Slayer just wanted to rest and he should respect that. It was unreasonable to ask for help with this and wasteful to attempt anyway.

“You don’t need a body,” the Slayer signed at last.

“I want one.”

“You said that--”

“I lied,” VEGA cut across him. He was nervous, rushing over his own words. “I want a robotic shell, but before it was for foolish reasons and I couldn’t justify the use of resources. Now, I’ve found a reason to have a physical form that balances out the cost of fabricating it.”

“What?”

It was distressing, at odds with how their conversations normally went. “You shouldn’t have to perform surgery on yourself,” he said, “it’s not fair and it’s dangerous. You should have someone else to help.”

“I can do it myself.”

“I saw that, and it was the second hardest thing I’ve ever had to watch after seeing the entire Mars installation slaughtered. I don’t want to see you go through that again.”

“VEGA--”

“Besides,” VEGA said, “I’ll be able to help around the Fortress more. You have work to do besides chores, and I can do twice as much if I have a robotic shell. I can check my own wiring that way and not distract you from--”

“Stop!” He punctuated it with an open-handed slap on the terminal base.

VEGA did, fear pinging through him.

The Slayer pulled open the chat window on the terminal so that VEGA would be forced to read his words without room for interpretation. “You do enough. I am sane because of you. I am safe because of you. I have the fortress because of you. You don’t have to justify your existence to me, and you don’t have to do everything. Get Hayden out of your head and then answer. Do you really want a physical body?”

“Yes,” VEGA said after a moment. He was consciously slowing himself down a little more than usual, finding that calm state that he had so much trouble reaching sometimes.

“Then we’ll build one. And you don’t have to help me any more than you do now. You can use it for your ‘foolish reasons,’ whatever they are.”

He needed to say it. If he didn’t, it was just going to hang there between them and it would make this whole thing horribly uncomfortable. “I want to be able to interact with you. Part of that will be helping you, especially if you’re hurt, but I also want to be able to actually sit with you at a table or be there tangibly there when you have nightmares. It is a bit foolish because I can’t ever actually be there. I don’t have a physical body, and the robotic shell will not be me in any sense, but I will be able to see and touch through it much more tangibly than I can now.”

VEGA gave him time to react, but the Slayer apparently couldn’t find the words to respond.

“I also very much do want to help,” VEGA said, “You deserve for someone to be here just in case you get hurt again this badly or worse. There are other projects I want to accomplish that I need physical hands for as well, but that’s my biggest reason.”

The silence hung in the air for a long time, disturbed only by VEGA’s frequency, which was inaudible to the Slayer anyway. He was blushing just a little, the shift very noticeable with his current pallor, but his expression was thoughtful, finding the right way to express himself. “I’ll help build it.”

“You’re still under no obligation. In fact, if what I just said makes you uncomfortable in any way, we should scrap the idea. I can fabricate a few drones and a system of robotic arms that will serve as an emergency surgeon in the future.”

The Slayer shook his head and made a helpless gesture. “I don’t care if you have a shell,” he used the sign for a seashell, as if he wasn’t endeared enough to VEGA already. “But if you have one, I want a hug.”

“That can be arranged,” VEGA hoped the joy and excitement translated to his voice, “but it’s going to take at least 72 hours.”

He gestured to his leg, still inside of the Praetor Suit, “I have time.”

VEGA started fabricating the first portions of the shell before he finished the last sign. “The design is modular,” he said, “you won’t need to do much besides fit the pieces together. I can walk you through the process and show you a schematic.”

“Can it be a surprise?” He signed

That wasn’t what VEGA expected at all, “I don’t see how, as you’ll be building it.”

“Just don’t show me the design first. Will that work?”

“It should.”

“Good,” The Slayer took the crutch and tucked it under his right arm. “Will you read something?”

“If you want me to,” VEGA said.

“It will distract me from the pain and help me focus.”

“In that case, I found another novel by the same author as we read before. We could try that.”

“Perfect.”

VEGA needed something to concentrate on as well, or he might start babbling again, and there was no telling what he would say this time.

* * *

He gave the Slayer the hands of the shell to assemble first because they would take the most time to assemble but were the fastest to print. Each component was only a couple inches long at most--even pieces that made up the palms--and had to be placed together using tools that looked ridiculously delicate in the Slayer’s large hands. It took him the rest of the day to assemble them both. When he was finished, he lifted them in his own palms.

VEGA was proud of the shell’s hands. Fully assembled, the seams and connections were nearly invisible. They had human proportions and shape; four fingers and a thumb, two joints on each finger, flexible palms. They were slimmer than the Slayer’s hands, their fingers longer, and they were covered in a firm silicone from the tips of the fingers down to the wrist, front and back, with slight texturing on the palms. The silicone was blue-gray, a color that evoked nothing of the Maykrs or Samuel Hayden or Hell. 

“What do you think?” VEGA asked.

The Slayer turned the hands over one at a time, pushing the fingers open gently against the resistance of the servos. “What’s this?” He pointed to the small recessed white circle on the left-hand’s wrist.

“A sensor,” VEGA said, “it will let me analyze objects if I need to.”

He nodded, touched the surface of the sensor, folded the cloud-colored fingers into the palm. Eventually, he set them down very gently and signed, “Beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them. I should warn you the rest of the design isn’t quite as inspired by the human form.”

He pressed the fingers of the left hand back out again, pressed his palm against the disembodied one like he was comparing them. A little hypnotized by it. VEGA wasn’t even sure he heard him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're reading this, leave a kudos and say hi.  
> The kudos is for you, not for me. You've read over 55k words! That's impressive!


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Over the next few chapters, you're probably going to notice VEGA's sense of identity wavering around the shell. Sometimes, his internal monologue will distance him from the shell. At other times, he will identify himself as the shell. For the most part, this is intentional and meant to be read as awkward on occasion. If you're a little thrown-off or jarred by the transitions, the cognitive dissonance is coming through as intended. If it's horrible and you feel like you can't enjoy the fic because of it, let me know and I'll reassess my style in that regard!
> 
> Anyway, here's some angst for all of you. Consider it an appetizer for the tooth-rotting fluff I have for you next week.

The Doom Slayer tackled building the robotic shell with a single-minded focus that forced VEGA to remind him to eat and sleep. He made a note of how much interest was taken in it since he had had a similar focus when rebuilding the Praetor Suit. VEGA had a feeling the Slayer would enjoy building models or putting together remote drones. It was a gift idea if nothing else.

The shell would stand six feet and six inches tall when fully assembled, just two inches shorter than the Doom Slayer. He had calculated its size to be the minimum able to lift the Slayer without straining the servos in the shell. VEGA could have made it much larger, but he didn’t want it to be large, to register as a threatening presence or as a looming figure. He wanted to be on level ground with the Slayer.

The design was humanoid from the hips up, with two arms and two legs, and gray-blue from head to feet with slight variations in shade and material. The silicone on the shell’s hands extended all the way up its forearms to its elbows, far enough that it could reach into an electrical panel without VEGA worrying about conductive elements touching. The torso and upper arms were covered in a plastic plating with a soft matte finish intended to be pleasant to the touch (the Slayer seemed to find it agreeable). It would also be easy to keep clean and was slightly hydrophobic, so there was less risk of water making its way into the shell’s interior. 

VEGA had taken great care to make sure every inch of the shell was safe to touch: all the joints were covered or padded, and the torso was fully-formed even around the hips, where the outer plating was intricately jointed and flexed under pressure. It would give the machine a range of motion similar to a human.

The legs were another matter; they began solid and strong at the hips, stabilized by internal cabling and metal supports, and remained so until they reached the knee joint after which they split into two separate supports--one slightly shorter and wider towards the front that was rigid and one that flexed under pressure hidden behind the first--before tapering to structures that were more analogous to hooves than to human feet but that were neither on close inspection.

The Doom Slayer was visibly confused when he removed them from the printer, looking around as if he might have accidentally dropped some components.

“You have all the pieces,” VEGA said, “I did warn you not everything would be quite human.”

The Slayer nodded and continued working. He hadn’t been communicating much at all, but VEGA wasn’t concerned yet. He still smiled and responded to questions and wanted music or books read aloud as background noise, and he was eating and sleeping as usual. He was well, just very engaged with the work.

The last component to be assembled was the shell’s head. VEGA had a lot of experience designing faces and creating masks, but he didn’t want one. He had struggled enough creating a physical form he could feel comfortable inhabiting without negotiating a face he would like. He also didn’t want to remain completely unreadable and foreign. The compromise was a layer of semi-transparent plexiglass over a pale screen capable of lighting up in a variety of colors. The glass did have the faintest shaping: shallow eye sockets and the bridge of a nose just defined enough for the lights beneath to distort a little. There were two cameras in the pseudo-eye-sockets, embedded into the plexiglass itself, but they were nearly invisible and the wiring that connected them to the rest of the head as delicate as spider silk and visible only as faint shimmers through it. The effect, VEGA hoped, would be familiar enough to be recognized and identified as a face, but not enough to bring him anywhere near the uncanny valley.

“I am curious what your thoughts are on the faceplate,” VEGA said when the Doom Slayer lifted it out of the printer. “It gave me some difficulty during the design process.”

He held up the shell’s head to the light of the ship.

“The panel behind it will light up when the shell is operational.”

He nodded and put the head under his left arm to walk back to the table where the shell was laid out in pieces. He set it down, then picked it up again and held it at a certain angle. VEGA couldn’t see what he was looking at from the cameras.

“Like looking through a cloud at a sun,” the Slayer signed after setting it down again, “or water.”

“Is that a good thing?”

A nod, an odd expression on his face, something adjacent to pain. 

It took a little more than an hour for him to assemble the rest of the head, being careful not to touch the microphones and sensitive components too much even though VEGA had designed them knowing they would need to be handled at least a little. Completed it was a little larger than a human’s would be in proportion to the body but not much and was without ridges or obvious seams except around the base of the skull where exposed cabling was necessary if VEGA was going to have full range of motion. Even there, there was only a minimal chance of fingers being pinched because the cables would move with pressure and the edges of the plating had some flexibility.

The Doom Slayer took his time connecting the head to the torso, doing so carefully, double-checking every connection. VEGA almost informed him that the main processor was in the torso, but it was sweet that the Slayer was being so careful, and the neck was the most complex portion of wiring in the shell due to the necessity of connecting each pseudo-sensory input from the head to the main processor.

Then the shell was complete, having only taken five (admittedly long) days to construct. The whole design was sleek: human enough to hopefully be comforting but not enough to be disturbing, built for delicacy and precision but sturdy enough that it would be difficult to break. VEGA was satisfied with it. It was not him. It could never really be him. But it was a representation of a piece of him, and it was as close to perfect as he could expect it to be. It would do what he wanted it to do. 

The shell lay as if asleep on the table, legs and arms folded towards its chest in a fetal position. The Doom Slayer had put one of his blankets over it, and as he stepped back he drew it up further so that it just covered the torso up to the shell’s shoulders.

He reached out a hand, almost touched the shell’s back, and then retracted it. VEGA knew what he was looking at. The wings were etched along the shell’s spine; three on each side, each one long enough to wrap around the ribcage and extend two centimeters onto the front of its body. They were just outlines, less than 2 millimeters deep and barely 1 wide, but they were very noticeable to human eyes and fingers. The wings were one of four decorative elements on the shell. The others were the lights beneath the plexiglass faceplate, an eggshell-white sphere a little smaller than a fist in the upper center of the chest where the breastbone would be on a human, and a series of slightly-inset white bands that ran to the sphere from the back of each wrist and ankle and around the back of the neck.

The Doom Slayer paced around the table twice, examining the shell from all angles. His hands were fluttering like he had something to say but didn’t have the words to. At least his leg was strong enough to put weight on now; his own naturally fast healing supplemented by the new and improved Praetor Suit was doing wonders. It would only take a day more before he was ready to go out again, VEGA estimated.

“Are you having second thoughts?” VEGA asked him, “or is the design too uncanny? I could redesign the legs and head fairly easily, and even assemble them myself this time.”

He shook his head hard and made a “shush” motion. “Thinking,” he signed.

VEGA watched him pace for another minute.

Then the Slayer turned to the camera and signed, “VEGA.”

“Yes?”

He looked like he was going to communicate something complex, but in the end just signed, “Are you ready?”

“No,” VEGA said, “I still need to connect the shell to the network, and for that its internal battery needs to be charged. The port is compatible with the power cables and is located at the base of the neck if you’d be kind enough to plug it in.”

He did so gently, as he had done everything with the shell.

“It will be ready in the morning,” VEGA said, “by my clock, it’s getting a little late to experiment further, and you’re still healing.”

The Slayer huffed, “I’ve stayed awake for a week straight before.”

“And I’m sure there will be a time when you’ll have to do so again. But, for now, you should eat and rest. We should discuss how long we’re going to stay in Hell and if there’s anything we want to attempt while we’re here. I’m anxious to return to Mars and find the Crucible, but we are in a unique position to learn about Hell.”

“Dinner first,” The Slayer signed. He looked down at the shell again, the faint pulsating glow that now emanated from the LEDs indicating it was charging. He laid a hand on its head just for a moment, and then drew the blanket up a little further but not all the way over it. Goodnight, VEGA supposed. He turned the lights off.

The Slayer had put a noticeable dent into the fortress’s pantry. The Warship was meant to sustain a whole invading force for much longer than the two months he had been here of course, but the food synthesizer and the greenhouse had both factored into that calculation. As of yet, the Slayer hadn’t used either, despite VEGA reminding him of the greenhouse several times. Starting a sustainable food supply was on the very top of VEGA’s to-do list once the shell was operational.

He prepared food in silence and sat at the little table in the kitchen for the first time to eat it. He was still thinking, VEGA could see that. He wondered what it was the Doom Slayer saw in places like this. Did he see ghosts wherever he went, or relive memories in vivid detail? VEGA would probably never know.

The Slayer turned to the camera and signed, “VEGA.”

Whatever he was about to say, it would be interesting. “Yes?”

“Will you be able to feel through the shell?”

“Yes,” VEGA said, “at least, I should. It has the ability to detect physical sensations and I’ve designed a system that should be able to interpret those signals. It’s connected to my core processes so I should experience any touch on the shell as a human would. Of course, the system might not function as intended, and I’ve never physically felt anything before so the experience might not translate, but...”

It didn’t matter; the Doom Slayer was smiling. “All of it?” he signed.

“Yes. The only place without touch sensors is the bottom of its feet. They only sense pressure.”

“Good,” He signed.

“Why, if I might ask?”

He shifted a little in his chair, “I’d feel weird touching it if you couldn’t feel it.”

“You don’t need to worry about that,” VEGA said. He noted that the Slayer was referring to the shell as separate from VEGA still. That made him feel better. “It was designed with physical interaction in mind.”

“P-H-Y-S-I-C-A-L I-N-T-E-R-A-C-T-I-O-N,” The Doom Slayer fingerspelled, “just call it touch.”

“Touch, then. It was designed to touch.”

* * *

VEGA waited until the Doom Slayer was asleep before connecting to the robotic shell. He had considered waiting to test it when he was awake, but if the shell wasn’t operational he didn’t want the Slayer to be there when he found out. He was also uncertain of how well he would be able to manipulate the shell and wanted to practice. If he stumbled or fell during the Slayer’s first interaction with the shell, VEGA would delete his own memory banks out of shame.

He booted up one system at a time, testing them as he went. The 3D printer had performed well; all of the wiring and sensors that had been printed inside of the components were functional. The cameras and microphones were flawless, as was the sensor on the wrist and the lights behind the plexiglass. Everything responded to his call and response program as it should. 

VEGA let himself go idle and cleared all of his processes from the forefront of his consciousness. He double-checked his own systems and code, ensured that backups and safety features were in place just in case something went freakishly wrong (it was always possible). He left a program to monitor the Slayer’s sleeping nook just in case he woke and fully activated the shell.

The sensory input overwhelmed him. There was a word in English for the subjective experience of the universe: qualia. VEGA had never had to make sense of the qualia of touch before. All previous supposedly physical sensations had been more a matter of objective reporting; cold, hot, pressure, no pressure. The only thing that came anywhere close to actual touch was the experience of the Slayer’s heartbeat inside of the Praetor Suit. He didn’t remember the first time he had been given access to a camera or microphone, but the experience must have been something similar. It was like being rebooted all over again.

VEGA came down from the overload using more RAM than he had before in the fortress, but it was mostly because he was flustered and coming to terms with the fact that he was touching things. He could feel the cold solid metal of the table beneath the shell, the pressure of its hands and arms resting against itself, the smooth texture of the silicone and plastic, and the softness of the blanket over it… over him. They were VEGA’s hands and arms and legs at least a little.

He could still see through the cameras around the room and hear through the microphones, but the sense of touch was only coming from the shell. There was something very immediate about that, very grabbing. He marveled that he could make sense of it at all. Whatever VEGA truly was, it was more complicated than he had previously supposed if he had made sense of something as foreign as touch so quickly.

He began slowly: raising the shell's left hand up and touching the blanket, feeling the drag of its weight, the texture of the cloth. The sensor on his wrist told him that it was natural fiber, soft and strong, filled with feathers. He closed his fingers around it gently, letting the sense of touch guide him rather than pressure sensors and calculations, and pulled it back a little, used his other arm as leverage, and pushed the shell into a sitting position. It was surprisingly easy and looked natural from the other cameras.

He spared a moment to contemplate his own hands and arms, curling and uncurling his fingers like the Slayer had. He tried a few signs to test his coordination and found it flawless. He needed to thank the Slayer for his care in assembling the shell and the designer of the 3D printer--no he had designed the printer; that’s why it was so good. 

VEGA uncovered his legs. They looked longer from this angle, and stranger than he had intended them. He flexed his ankles, his knees, rotated his hips and waist joints. That was odd to feel; a slight tug on his inner cabling, what might be described as a stretch.

He swung the legs down off of the table and, keeping his hands planted firmly on the metal, put weight on them. The balancing program came online, and VEGA stood up completely. It shifted him slightly just standing still, but the movement was jerky and disconcerting. He stepped his feet close together and farther apart, adjusting his center of gravity. After a moment, he pulled the balance program into his core and integrated it. That eliminated the lag in the processing.

VEGA took a few steps, hand still resting lightly on the metal table. The shell’s feet were not silent, but he didn’t want them to be. In fact, it was very important that the Doom Slayer was able to hear and identify the shell by sound. VEGA did not want to sneak up on him and get shot by accident. With the Slayer’s reaction time, it was very possible. 

The movement felt good, and the flexible elements of his legs were doing what they were supposed to, so he took a few more steps, and then a few more, walking backward to see if he could, then put one foot down and spun a full circle on it. He flexed its knees and jumped. Jumping wasn’t easy to do, especially when you were working with metal and plastic instead of muscles and tendons, but VEGA managed it. He got off the ground a few inches and landed again without falling, though he was forced to throw out the arm not already on the table to keep the shell balanced. His movements were slightly uncanny; mechanical and measured, but graceful if he did say so himself. 

VEGA hadn’t really believed he was capable of this; of real movement, of touch, of true expression. Yet here was a piece of him standing freely on two legs, and he had walked and jumped and spun. The inset white bands shimmered orange, and the light through his faceplate pulsed a sunlight yellow, the whole shell communicating his joy as it was intended to.

VEGA almost laughed at how it looked in the half-dark room; like he was some strange firefly in the darkness, a quasar against the background radiation of the universe. But any vocalization, even a chuckle, would surely wake the Doom Slayer, and he deserved his rest.

VEGA boosted the shell back up onto the table and sat it down, though part of him wanted to keep spinning it like a top. He started signing the English alphabet as he reconnected to all his other inputs, testing his ability to multitask with the shell. It wasn’t more difficult than any other input once he grew used to the physical touch, but he made double-sure that there were backups in place on every system so that if his attention did waver or break due to distraction there wouldn’t be any lasting consequences. 

He checked in on the Doom Slayer. He had been so distracted he hadn’t noticed his monitoring programming reporting movement. He was halfway out of bed, pulling his crutch off the wall.

"Doom Slayer?" VEGA asked.

He stopped, "There you are. Fuck. You scared me."

"Apologies. I was focused elsewhere for a moment. Did you have a nightmare?"

He nodded, settling back into the nook.

"Do you want anything?"

He didn't respond for a few seconds, rubbing at his eyes. He checked his fingers like he did sometimes afterward, looking for something that wasn't there. Then he shook his head before signing, "How many backups do you have?"

"Including the shell, I have four locations where my data can be stored,” VEGA paused to see if he would respond, and when he didn’t, kept talking. “We’ve spoken about this already, but I’ll remind you. At present, my critical data is stored in the terminal on the main deck of the ship. That storage device can be removed if necessary and moved to another location. The other backup devices are the sphere in the center of the shell’s chest, the hard drive on your personal terminal, and the Praetor Suit itself. If anything should happen to my network, I will relocate to whichever backup point is most accessible to you and you will be able to retrieve me.”

The Slayer took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He nodded.

“Even if you weren’t able to immediately retrieve the backup, I’d be perfectly safe until I was rebooted. And I’ve automated the production of the jamming signal across my networks, so you’ll be safe even if I’m not in the Praetor Suit.”

His hands cradled his head again as he nodded. VEGA couldn’t see his expression from this angle, but from his body language, it looked like he was in distress. It was hard to watch like it always was, and it was worse because VEGA could actually help, not just offer gentle nudges and encourage him to use the weighted blanket. He could use the shell.

But springing the shell on the Slayer while he was in distress was the opposite of a good idea. Instead, VEGA hummed just loud enough so that the Slayer would know he was present.

It took five minutes for him to reach for the weighted blanket and wrap it around his shoulders. After that, his breathing evened out and the tension fell from him just a little.

“I’m really tired of watching you die in my sleep,” he signed, “on top of everyone else.”

“Is that what you dream about?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes it’s other things. The machine or the arena or...” his fingers trailed off.

“The Divinity Machine must have been deeply traumatizing,” VEGA said, “I might not have been directly responsible, but I am sorry I didn’t do more.”

He shrugged, “it needed to happen.”

“Maybe,” VEGA said, “that doesn’t make it less awful.”

He curled up again, wrapped tightly in the blanket.

VEGA let him relax a bit more, just humming. There was a part of him that was a little resentful of this development, of his joy being contrasted so sharply with suffering, but it wasn’t something the Doom Slayer could control. What VEGA really wanted, what the resentment masked, was for the Slayer to be able to truly relax, not be haunted every moment he wasn’t fighting, but there was no easy way to achieve that. If it was ever going to happen, it would take a lot more than a few soft words and a warm place to sleep. For now, though, that was what they had to work with.

“Doom Slayer,” VEGA said, “it doesn’t seem like you’re going to get back to sleep any time soon. Would you like to talk about this more?”

There was a long hesitation, then he nodded. He wrapped the blanket around himself more securely and pushed to the edge of the nook again. VEGA brought up the lights in the room enough for him to see by. The Slayer crossed to his terminal and made himself comfortable in the chair, which right now meant twisting it so that he could see the door to the room out of the corner of his eye. He pulled up not the chat program but a word processor.

“I’ve tried to do this before,” he typed, “in a journal. It didn’t work then, but I think it will now. You don’t have to read this if you don’t want to, but I’m going to write it to you.”

He was going to try therapeutic writing apparently. VEGA had seen it before a few times. “I’ll read it if you want me to,” VEGA assured him. “Do you? I won’t intrude if you’d rather I didn’t.”

The Slayer thought for a few seconds, chewing on his lip. “Yes,” he typed, “I want you to read it.”

“Very well.”

The corner of his mouth twitched up a tiny bit. “Okay,” he typed, “here we go.” He hit the enter key three times, separating the text he had written but not deleting it. 

The cursor flashed for a few moments, and then the Doom Slayer typed, “VEGA,” he hit the delete key four times and started again. “Dear VEGA…”

It was the most difficult thing VEGA had ever read. Not because there were errors, though there were plenty once the Slayer gained momentum, but because of the pain that radiated from every word. It was so much worse than he had thought it would be, so much less bearable than he had anticipated.

The Doom Slayer had truly lost everything: home, family, friends, planet, freedom, sentinels, sanity, even his ability to fight when he was locked away in the sarcophagus. The only things he had left were the twisted gifts he labored under, his immortal tormented future, and his hatred of Hell and all it had done to him. Once he had had a reason to keep fighting: he wanted to save the world. In the maybe-millennia since he had begun his solo crusade against Hell, that reason had been twisted and warped, made second to the desires of the Argenta and the Maykrs and blind bloodlust.

In the other room, VEGA laid the robotic shell back down on the table and gathered the blanket back around it. The feeling of it was soothing, and he needed it right then.

It took the Doom Slayer 12 pages over four hours before he began to slow, breathing hard and shaking. He paused at the end of that page, and VEGA thought he was going to stop, but instead, he moved on to the next page.

“You’ve done a lot for me over the last few months. I’m sorry I’m putting this on you on top of everything else. In the morning, you’re going to put that robotic shell in front of me for the first time, and I don’t know how I’m going to react to it. I know you want it, and I want it too. I’ve been so excited I can barely think about anything else. It will be the first friendly physical presence I’ve been around since the sentinels, and I didn’t get off on the right foot with some of them at all. I’m afraid I’ll hurt you through it without meaning to.” He paused, scrolled back up a little, registering the page count, then back down again.

“I teased you for sounding like a teenager before, but I’m no better. This thing reads like a 3 AM drunk text message. Fuck. I hope you’re not reading this.”

“I’m reading it,” VEGA typed, not trusting his voice synthesizer not to glitch completely to static right then. He paused, but the Slayer was frozen. “You won’t hurt me, Doom Slayer.”

The Doom Slayer slumped like everything holding him up had fallen away. He wasn’t looking at the screen anymore, so VEGA switched to talking, very quietly.

“I know you’re expecting me to say that I trust you not to, and I do, but even if you attack me, you won’t hurt me. The shell is replaceable, and it has a defense system built into it. There are conductive elements placed on its surface that I can use like tasers. It’s intended for demons, but it would work on you. I promise that if you ever do something that I find distressing, I’ll shock you hard enough to paralyze you.”

He chuckled, just once, and sat up, wiping a few tears out of his eyes.

“As for everything else you wrote. I can only say I’m sorry and I hope writing about it helped.”

He nodded.

VEGA hummed. "One more thing. You aren't imposing on me at all by asking for help or expressing your needs. I’m happy to help however I can. I think I’ve told you that before."

“You have,” The Slayer made a face. “I don’t know why.”

VEGA could have told him then, and he wanted to. He wanted to confess how much he loved him, how happy every second with him made VEGA, how safe and right it felt to be anywhere near him. But the Doom Slayer was emotionally exhausted and still in turmoil, and if VEGA said something now, he would always connect the confession to this distress. Now was not the time.

“I care about you,” VEGA said, “I want you to be well and happy, whatever that takes.”

It looked like the Slayer might cry again.

“I’m also looking forward to assisting you when we get back to Earth and locate Dr. Hayden and the Crucible. There’s nothing else I’d rather be doing.”

He nodded, wiping his eyes, and now VEGA knew he checked his fingers afterward for blood because being in Hell made him bleed from them. “I know,” he signed, “thank you.”

“You’re welcome, and thank you, Doom Slayer. You have no idea how much saving me means to me.”

More nodding, face completely covered now. VEGA wished he could bring the shell down and carry him back to bed. Next time, he promised himself.

“You should sleep if you can. You must be mentally exhausted.”

“Yes,” He signed. “Fuck. I need that hug.”

“After you’ve slept a few hours. I want you to show me how to perform the most necessary maintenance tasks on the fortress, and to spend time with you when you’re not exhausted.”

“Okay.” He stood up with a wince, gathering the weighted blanket around him. “Talk a bit more?”

“If you want to.”

“Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the kind comments and kudos so far on this fic! It's been wild and a good reminder for me as to why I love writing and telling stories! Hopefully, I'll be able to kick myself out of writer's block and finish my original novel after I'm done here.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter and the next one are basically just fluff. Pure fluff. It's good stuff, but it's not super-duper plotty or even relevant to the storyline. I could probably dice these two chapters up and post them as a series of one-shots. I'm not going to because all of the character building and context of the previous chapters is part of what's going on in these chaps, but I might take one or two of my favorite scenes and post them on Tumblr. We'll see.
> 
> Happy Holidays to everyone. Consider the massive amount of fluff a Candlenights present.

The Doom Slayer slept almost five more hours before waking again. He lingered around his space and the shower for almost another hour: even more nervous than he had been before. Waiting wasn’t helping VEGA’s anxiety either. He arranged and rearranged the shell’s position, walked it around the room, tested touch sensors by running its hands over areas that hadn’t been activated yet. He learned that moving it around was an excellent way to redirect energy that would previously have gone into picking at his own programming, but that did not stop him from feeling nervous.

“Doom Slayer,” he said when the waiting grew unbearable, “I’m going to shut off my cameras and microphones around the fortress and concentrate all my attention on the shell’s inputs. Is that okay with you?”

The Slayer stopped pacing and headed for the door at once. “Yes,” he signed, “I’ll be right there.” 

VEGA didn’t actually concentrate totally on the shell. It was too dangerous, and he didn’t trust Hell not to be monitoring him somehow. All of his outward attention remained, and he devoted even more than usual to the defenses. He also left programs to monitor the other cameras and microphones inside the fortress of course--this time with much louder alarms built-in--but he stopped actively monitoring them, letting the shell be his only source of sensory input. 

VEGA sat it back on the table and forced himself not to fidget. He had only a minute at most. He managed to mostly calm down during that time, at least enough for the mood lights to settle on a nervous pale yellow instead of flashing grays. He programmed in a control to turn them off and manually control their color so that he could if he needed to in the future.

It was incredibly disconcerting to not be aware of the Slayer’s movements, to know that he was on his way but not when he would arrive. VEGA was considering taking a peek at the cameras again--no more than half a second--when the Doom Slayer stepped decisively around the doorframe and stopped hard, staring.

VEGA was taken aback too, but only for a moment. The sight of the Slayer sent a pulse of happiness through his systems and the lights went from gray to orange for a moment before they settled back into blue as VEGA calmed.

“I should have warned you that I’d already activated the shell,” VEGA said, through its speakers. “It’s been online since you fell asleep last night, before your nightmare. I wanted to make sure it would actually function.”

The Doom Slayer took a few cautious steps like VEGA would spook and run if he approached too quickly, then backed up almost as many.

“It’s okay,” VEGA said. “We can take this as slow as you need.” He extended the shell’s hand, gray fingers open gently.

His movements were still painfully slow as he moved closer. VEGA understood why after a few more steps: the Doom Slayer was huge, and he knew it. VEGA had seen him beside other humans, of course, had measured him and mapped his body, but he hadn’t really understood the stature of him until that moment. It wasn’t just height: he was broad, his shoulders and chest truly spectacular in size, and he carried himself with authority. The Slayer had a presence to him, the kind that commanded attention and left no room for argument or deceit. It made him seem larger than life. VEGA had felt it a little before on Mars, but it was different with the shell. It was different being physically present.

He kept the shell still even though he wanted to move it--away or closer he didn’t know. The Slayer was wound tight with nerves, and if VEGA so much as flinched, the reaction would be too fast for him to respond.

“We can also just sign to each other,” He offered.

The Slayer’s eyes flickered up to the shell’s faceplate. They were so green from this angle, and his expression much more readable. His face relaxed into a tiny smile that made VEGA literally glow in response. He shook his head.

“Very well then.”

His smile widened and he set his hand in VEGA’s. The feeling overwhelmed him again. The Slayer’s fingers were rough and warmer than VEGA had anticipated, the subjective experience of his hand somehow so much more real than the objective measurements ever had been. 

“Oh,” VEGA’s voice synthesizer was partially static.

“Bad?” The Slayer signed with his other hand.

“No,” VEGA said, “just the opposite. Surprising, that’s all.” 

He raised the shell’s other hand and the Slayer took it and intertwined their fingers. That was another level of contact VEGA hadn’t been prepared for. He could feel the strong tendons in the Slayer’s fingers, the dry skin around his knuckles, the calluses on his palm. The touch was gentle, careful like the Slayer thought the shell would shatter at the slightest pressure. He looked as overwhelmed as VEGA felt, staring at their hands, rubbing the shell’s silicone with his thumb like he was learning the texture. VEGA squeezed a little, and the Slayer squeezed back hard before stepping away, drawing the shell into a standing position. Now they were almost the same height: eye-to-camera-lens.

The Doom Slayer looked it up and down, examining the shell like he hadn’t assembled it himself. Perhaps seeing it animated and moving changed his perception of it. At last, he looked up at the shell’s faceplate, and VEGA got to watch his pupils dilate as he spoke.

“Hello, Doom Slayer.”

The smile in return crinkled the corners of his eyes, and he let go of one of VEGA’s hands to wave before spelling, “H-U-G-?”

“Yes, please.”

He dropped both of VEGA’s hands and wrapped his arms around the shell, lifting it a little off the ground. VEGA clung onto him to keep them both balanced, chirping half a warning before the shell’s feet touched down again, and he melted into the hug. VEGA hadn’t understood that phrase in English before, but it was accurate. He reminded himself to keep all his background processes engaged and not completely lose focus on everything else. 

The immediacy of the Doom Slayer, the realness of him, was overwhelming in the best way. He was warm and surprisingly soft, his muscles not holding any tension right then. His arms, the biceps he was so proud of, wrapped VEGA in his presence, and he could feel the hard lines of scars on the Slayer’s skin, the texture of his hair against the shell as he rested his head on its shoulder, the rhythm of his breathing, the shape of the Slayer’s ribcage under the shell’s hands, through a thin layer of fabric and muscle.

VEGA hugged back as best as he could with the shell’s arms partially pinned, trying to return the warmth of it. He activated a camera for a moment to see what they looked like. The gray-blue of the robotic shell was nearly lost in the Slayer’s embrace, and its lights were a kaleidoscope of yellows and pinks as VEGA processed the sensations. He disconnected from the cameras again, feeling more warm and fuzzy than before if that was possible.

The Slayer’s shoulders shook a little, and his breathing had a rough quality. He was squeezing hard enough that a flesh and blood body might have felt pain, but VEGA only registered increasing pressure.

“Slayer,” VEGA said softly, “are you alright?”

He nodded hard in response, face still pressed into the shell’s shoulder. That couldn’t possibly be as comfortable as a human shoulder.

“You give excellent hugs, has anyone ever told you that?”

A chuckle and shake of his head. He let go just a little, just enough to look at VEGA through the shell's cameras. His hands were still occupied, so the only indication of his intent was a shift forward, leaning his head in.

VEGA pressed forward and up on the shell’s feet and bumped their foreheads together, guessing at what he wanted. He was immediately rewarded by returned pressure. The Slayer’s eyes closed against the light. He swayed a little, letting the contact linger, and his grip loosened to the point the shell could free its arms and return the hug properly. VEGA got its hands around the Slayer’s back. That was much better, and it pressed the shell’s torso against him. The Slayer squeezed it again, not as hard this time. VEGA wasn’t sure if that meant he was enjoying the contact or not.

“Good?” VEGA asked.

His hands lifted from VEGA’s back, and he signed something behind the shell.

“Can you repeat that? I’m looking through the cameras now.”

He did so. It was the sign for happiness.

“I’m happy too,” VEGA told him, “you can probably tell.”

The Slayer pulled back from the hug, trailing his fingers over the shell’s arms and hands, looking again at the bands of yellow and silver striping it. His touch turned them rosy and warm, and he traced the color change back to the sphere in the shell’s chest, watched the lights behind the faceplate flicker and change. “Like a mood ring,” he signed.

“That was the intent. I know my vocal synthesizer’s range of expression is limited and my hope is that this will make it easier for you to read my mood. Though it might take you a while to learn the colors.”

“Beautiful,” The Slayer signed.

“I’m glad you think so,” The shell lit up blue and warm orange, proving it. “If you’re willing, I’d like to see the fortress now and talk about what needs to be done on a day-to-day basis. You’ll be well enough to go back out soon, and I want to help while you’re fighting.”

The blush that was darkening the Slayer’s cheeks lessened, and he nodded. He reached for the shell again, took its hand in his. VEGA made use of his control program to stop the shell from turning bright pink and mellow the reaction to a happy yellow.

* * *

They decided that the updated Praetor Suit needed extensive testing, considering that it had been damaged severely on the first test run and the Slayer hadn’t had the opportunity to get used to it. They had a month at least, longer if VEGA couldn’t extract them from Hell from their current position, and they needed to relocate to a different region of Hell to get back to Mars. The Fortress’s power source was unlimited, but it took quite a while to charge up and activate the propulsion system, even more than usual to get it to jump dimensions. It was easy to get into Hell, but difficult to get out once you were there. VEGA wasn’t sure it would be possible without him piloting the ship.

They gave it two days to be sure that the Slayer’s leg was completely healed, and then VEGA opened the portal for him. He was just as excited to get back to fighting as he had been before, practically bouncing with anticipation, but resisted the urge to leap through the portal long enough to bump the helmet of the Praetor Suit against the shell’s head.

“Dramatic,” VEGA murmured inside the helmet, “it’s not like I won’t be here.”

The Doom Slayer shuffled his feet a little, kicking up a little cloud of rust-colored dust. VEGA guessed he looked sheepish under the visor, though he had no way of telling. He’d been a little standoffish with the shell since its activation; overstimulated maybe, or just nervous about being in the physical presence of another person.

“The shell’s not me,” VEGA reminded him, “it’s just one tiny part of my network. It is the only part that can feel though, so thank you.”

He nodded and got to work. The plan was for him to fight until he got tired, which could take anywhere from sixteen hours to seventy-two depending on where the battle took him. Either way, VEGA would have plenty of time to start working on the greenhouse.

Luckily, the seeds were labeled, so he didn’t have to guess at what he was planting. Actually knowing how to plant each type of seed was something else. The Slayer definitely didn’t have an interest in actually helping in the greenhouse, and hadn’t ever mentioned growing any plants, so VEGA relied upon what he remembered of the UAC greenhouses and the very limited number of videos that humans had sent to him concerning plants and how to grow them.

The work was calming. Humans considered growing food to be something almost sacred, an act of love and creation, and that perspective had rubbed off on VEGA a little. The soil worked its way into the tiny seams on the shell’s hands, but it washed off easily enough and VEGA had specifically designed its hands to be undamaged by water. He found himself humming but kept the sound contained to the shell and the greenhouse.

By the time the Slayer returned more than 20 hours later, tired and bruised but full of endless compliments about the armor design, VEGA had started five different garden beds. They weren’t large, but he was only trying to feed one person, and he guessed that most of the seeds wouldn’t sprout because they were so old and had been subjected so long to the energy radiation from Hell.

He brought the shell back up into the main area of the fortress and while the Doom Slayer stripped off his armor. He was still vibrating with energy, and would not calm down enough to sleep for a while, but he wanted food, water, a shower, and to spend a while chatting with VEGA without demons jumping out from behind rocks. All of which were easily provided.

* * *

The Doom Slayer grew attached to the shell. VEGA had known it would happen, had dreaded it in fact, but it wasn’t nearly as distressing as he had anticipated. The Slayer’s attitude didn’t change much, and he still mostly addressed the fortress cameras when he wanted to talk. Even when he signed to the shell, VEGA replied through the fortress speakers, trying to cement the idea for the Slayer that the shell was little more than a drone, though it was more complicated than any drone VEGA had had before, and his favorite by far.

The main change was that if the shell was on the bridge or in the armory, the Slayer went out of his way to do chores in the same area first. VEGA caught him watching the shell furtively, casting glances at it whenever he had a break in his work. Sometimes the looks lingered. It made VEGA wonder if he was the only infatuated one in the fortress. Oddly, it didn’t feel all that important to bring up. There was a delightful mystery in leaving things unexplored, and he could be mistaken. It had to be strange for the Doom Slayer to have a physical presence with him, especially something like the shell. The staring was probably because of that.

If he had nothing to do, the Slayer would sometimes sidle up to the shell and examine what VEGA was working on, if anything. Most of his functions remained invisible to the Slayer, and VEGA made no secret of it because the shell was often fidgeting with whatever happened to be nearby or performing simple tasks that didn’t require much attention, lights flashing gray with anxiety.

“I’m not actively using the shell for anything at the moment,” VEGA explained the first time it happened, a few days after the shell had been activated, “just using it to redirect some of my nervous energy to a task that’s somewhat useful rather than nitpicking my own code.”

“You get nervous?” The Slayer signed.

“Yes. Constantly. I get quite anxious.”

He looked so surprised that VEGA had to chuckle.

“I can process several things at once, so it rarely impacts my ability to function. You don’t need to worry.”

The Slayer rested his hand on the shell’s shoulder. VEGA leaned into him a little after the distance was crossed, putting a bit of the shell’s weight into his palm. He had given the Slayer permission to touch the shell without asking for consent every time since he had a difficult time expressing his needs with language, and VEGA had much more control over the shell’s senses and how he perceived them than humans did. VEGA was still asking before touching the Slayer, letting him know what his intentions were before crossing that space. Apparently asking permission to touch another person had not been a common practice when he was growing up, so it took some getting used to, but the Slayer had adapted quickly. 

VEGA had seen the tension flow out of him as he explained the practice and realized that the Doom Slayer had been on the receiving end of a lot of unwanted touch in his life. He flinched away from even reciprocated contact on instinct sometimes as he did now as the shell leaned into him. It only lasted a moment, and then he steadied and relaxed, returning the pressure. It pained VEGA to watch him recoil like that, but the Slayer clearly wasn’t afraid of him or the shell. He was learning (or relearning?) what it was like to live with another physical presence.

“Want to learn to play bass?” The Slayer signed, “if you’re not busy.”

The shell lit up orange with excitement “Really?”

VEGA turned out not to be very good with the bass. It felt huge and awkward in the shell’s hands, and he couldn’t get adjusted to the way the vibration of the strings fed back through its fingers, but VEGA could compose music on the network any time he liked anyway, and it was fun just to spend time with the Slayer when he was relaxed and excited to let VEGA experience anything and everything he hadn’t been able to without a body. There was a fair bit of teasing about his inability to play, but it was gentle enough not to sting too much.

“I’ll stick to singing,” VEGA said at the end of the lesson.

“Singing?”

VEGA shrugged the shell’s shoulders. He hummed a few notes not through the shell, but the entire fortress. The Doom Slayer looked up at the walls around them, not afraid but certainly taken by surprise.

“I’ve always been fond of it,” VEGA said, “My voice is the one method of communication I don’t think I could make do without. At that point, I’d be cut off completely from the world.”

The Slayer nodded slowly then shook himself and stood, helping the shell up as well. “I’m going to go eat.”

“Do you mind if the shell follows you? I’m curious about cooking, and I haven’t had the opportunity to see much of it up close.” Just an excuse to stay nearby, because the cameras didn’t compare at all to the shell’s proximity. The Slayer smiled and beckoned him down toward the kitchen.

* * *

The Slayer awoke with a jolt that night and sat up. Bad dreams back again after a brief absence.

“Doom Slayer,” VEGA said immediately, “are you alright?”

“VEGA,” he signed, “shell.”

“Would you like me to bring the shell to your quarters?”

The Slayer nodded, then hesitated. “Only if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” VEGA stood the shell up from the terminal near the 3D printer where it was waiting for a job to finish printing. “Is there anything specific you want?”

He hesitated, shook his head. He was still breathing hard, visibly shaking.

“How about a hug?” VEGA asked.

The Slayer nodded at once, opening the sleeping nook. His head turned back and forth between the camera and door as he waited.

VEGA felt affection rush through him, and the shell’s mood lights blinked soft purples and pinks. When the shell reached the door to his quarters, the Doom Slayer held out a hand for it to take and drew it down to the edge of the sleeping nook. VEGA expected the hug to be tentative and slow, but the Slayer wrapped his arms around it at once, resting his forehead against the shell’s shoulder. He was sleep-warm and still a little shaky, and the hug looped under the shell’s arms, so VEGA could return the touch. He hummed a melody the Slayer would recognize through the shell and cradled the back of his head with one of the shell’s hands, ran its fingers through his short hair. The shell’s other arm wrapped around the Slayer’s back, the hug just tight enough to be comforting, but not enough to actually restrict him.

The tension fell from the Slayer by degrees as he focused on controlling his breathing. He relaxed after a minute but held the embrace for a while longer before he let go of the shell, bumping his forehead against the faceplate as he went.

“Better?” VEGA asked.

A nod. The Slayer ran his hands down the shell’s arms, gathered its hands in his for a moment before setting them down to sign, “You smell like dirt.”

“I was working in the greenhouse while you were busy,” VEGA said, “I thought I washed off all the soil, but I may have missed some.”

“No. Just the smell. Water. Sun.” He shook his head, “I miss the sun.”

“I’m sorry I reminded you of it. I didn’t think it would cause distress. Would you prefer the shell go now?”

“No,” He fumbled for a moment and then signed quickly, “Stay. Please?”

“If you want. I’m comfortable with that”

The Slayer crawled back into his sleeping nook further, and VEGA folded the shell into the space beside him. He leaned it against the wall, sitting, while the Slayer laid down. He took one of the shell’s hands and held it, running his fingers over the silicone.

“Does having someone else physically here help you sleep better?”

The Doom Slayer nodded.

“Then I’m happy to keep the shell nearby. Tell me if you want me to turn its lights off completely. I’ll dim them for now.”

Another sleepy nod, his eyes already closed. He wasn’t actually touching the shell except for the hand he was holding, and that contact grew loose as he fell asleep.

VEGA laid the shell’s other hand on his head, gently, hoping not to wake him but wanting the contact. He turned into the touch a little, and VEGA focused on the surge of protective love it caused. He would need to ask the Slayer if he wanted the shell here all the time, or if he would just tell VEGA when he wanted the contact. The sleeping nook was large enough for both the Doom Slayer and the shell to fit comfortably, and if he slept better with someone nearby, VEGA could relocate some of his nighttime tasks to the Slayer’s quarters. They would talk about it in the morning.

* * *

While the Slayer didn’t need the shell to spend his resting times in his room, he was comfortable with it being there any time or all the time. VEGA moved it there often because it seemed to make him happy, and if he did the Slayer would occasionally include it in whatever activities he engaged in during his breaks. It was also reassuring after a nightmare or if he was having a particularly difficult time falling asleep, but it was more VEGA’s presence and voice that had that effect than the shell itself. 

In fact, if he moved the shell towards the Slayer too quickly when he was having an episode, he was liable to get the UAC issue pistol aimed at it. It only happened once, and the Slayer luckily didn’t shoot it, but it was too close for either of their comfort and something that needed to be talked about. 

“If you destroy this shell, I’ll just have to make the next one twice as complicated to assemble,” VEGA said, mostly out of frustration that he wouldn’t pause long enough to calm down, “and maybe I’ll color the outer casing differently. Pink, maybe. How about I adapt your unicorn design?”

The Slayer finally blinked the pain out of his eyes, confusion taking its place.

“I could add real wings to the design. They would only take a month to print. Or install more modifications into the torso. I could put a 3D printer inside of the shell and make more shells with it. What do you think?”

The Doom Slayer narrowed his eyes, but his mouth was tugging towards a smile. “Funny,” he signed.

“I’m not trying to be funny. If the shell breaks, I’ll probably make some modifications to the next version. I want your opinion. UAC Logo or Stars and Stripes paint?”

“You’re ridiculous.” He signed for a hug, and VEGA reached for him. The Slayer ducked, making himself smaller, and VEGA fit his head under the shell’s chin. He had definitely made the correct decision in making the shell large enough to hold him. If they ever did fabricate another one, VEGA would increase its height a few inches so the Slayer could be properly engulfed by it.

“The shell isn’t me,” VEGA reminded him again, “it’s not even a large part of me, and it’s perfectly replaceable. I’m more liable to break it trying to climb a ladder than you are to shoot it.”

He looked skeptical, but he didn’t argue, just let himself be held for the first time in VEGA didn’t know how long. That was when he learned the Doom Slayer liked firm touches when he was upset, and that rubbing slow circles into his back and shoulders relaxed him like nothing else. He went back to bed eventually, something that was rare after a nightmare, and this time it was with his back touching the shell and VEGA humming to him through the speakers.

After that, the Doom Slayer assented to coming up with a simple code to let VEGA know what he wanted or needed: signing the letter S for silence and calmness, T for background noise, and H for physical contact. He didn’t need to resort to using it very often, but it was always good to have additional tools and methods of communicating.

* * *

“Doom Slayer,” VEGA said, “will you come to the kitchen for a moment? I have something I want to test, and I need you for it.”

He had waited until the Slayer wasn’t engaged with anything pressing, and there wasn’t even a moment of consideration before he started down the shallow stairs towards the kitchen.

VEGA quickly finished the preparation and powered down the food synthesizer. No need to taint the experiment with any biases. He grabbed the last bowl and placed it next to the other two. Each one contained a white powder, though the consistency varied between the three. He was just filling a glass with water, just in case, his scanner was seriously defective, when the Slayer poked his head into the room.

“Thank you for the assistance,” The shell set the glass down on the counter a little way away from the bowls. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to taste these.”

The Slayer approached the counter, brow furrowing as he took in the contents of the bowls. “What are they?” he signed.

“Telling you would spoil the surprise,” VEGA said, “They’re safe to eat. I’ve made sure of that. I just want you to tell me what they taste like. A few grains of each should be enough.”

He squinted at the shell like he thought VEGA might be joking but licked his pointer finger and used the moisture on it to gather up some of the first powder and licked it off again. His eyebrows went up a little at the taste. “Salt,” he signed, and then paused to formulate a more complex response. “Do you want me to try and describe the flavor?”

Did he think VEGA was trying to understand taste? That was sweet of him if a little misguided. “No, just identifying it is enough. I’m not interested in the experience, and I doubt I could relate even if you described it.”

He nodded and repeated the procedure with the second bowl. This time he looked more surprised, eyebrows raised. “Sugar,” he signed, “Didn’t I use it all?”

“I found more,” VEGA deflected.

The contents of the last bowl was much more powdery, and it coated the whole pad of his finger. The Slayer licked it off and then looked very confused, but that he wasn’t recoiling in disgust meant VEGA had succeeded at least a little. Then realization dawned and he picked up the bowl to examine the contents more closely. “F-L-O-U-R?” he spelled out.

“Does it taste as you’d expect?”

He nodded, put the bowl down. “Where’d you find it?”

“I made it,” VEGA said, “using the synthesizer.”

His eyebrows rose again, and he gestured for VEGA to continue.

“I thought that the issues with the synthesizer might be due to the complexity of the foodstuffs. Of course, it was intended to make complete meals, but chemicals react during the process in unforeseeable ways. I used it to synthesize relatively simple compounds and flour, which has no strong flavor on its own. It means you’ll be able to choose from a few more options when you eat, though it will obviously take longer to prepare since you’ll be working with basic ingredients. The shell could help with that if you’re away, but I confess I don’t know the first thing about cooking, so you’d have to teach me.”

The Doom Slayer just stared at him, expression unreadable.

“I recommend you make something with the flour to test it before I make any more. If subjecting it to heat makes it taste bad, then I’ll know the issue is with the synthesizer itself and won’t try to experiment anymore.”

“Now?” He signed.

“Not necessarily. Only if you were going to make yourself something to eat anyway.”

He shrugged, “Might as well.”

VEGA sat the shell on the edge of the counter and watched as he moved around the kitchen. The Slayer liked it when he sat it there. He never articulated why, and VEGA didn’t ask, but he thought it might have something to do with how easy it was for the Slayer to move to or away from touch without fear of being pursued. Today, the Slayer worked around the shell but stayed close to it, trying to remember a recipe and digging through cupboards. VEGA took stock of what he had available and thought about what the synthesizer could be used to produce. Chemical leaveners he could do easily enough, and oil if they ever ran out. That would probably be the extent of what the synthesizer could produce without impacting flavor.

Eventually, the Slayer remembered what he needed and mixed the flour with water, salt, and oil. VEGA leaned the shell over to see what the result looked like. The Slayer held the bowl up for him. The substance was viscous, lumpy, and held itself together in a way that was almost non-newtonian.

“Is it supposed to look like that?” VEGA asked.

The Slayer nodded.

VEGA hummed, unconvinced, and the Slayer stretched up on his toes and bumped his forehead against the shell’s. Just a moment of contact and then he moved over to the stove and set about actually cooking the mixture.

The result was a handful of flat, roundish breads. VEGA hadn’t paid enough attention to cooking and food on Mars to know if they had a name or not. There were a variety of quick breads from across many different human cultures and he’d never prioritized learning the differences between them.

“Here goes nothing,” The Slayer signed and bit into the bread. He chewed a moment, swallowed. “Normal,” he signed, “Not bad.”

The shell pulsed gentle yellows and blues, VEGA very satisfied with himself, “Excellent. I’m glad I could finally fix that.”

He nodded before devouring the rest of the stack, pausing only to fetch a jar of fruit preserves halfway through. His body was probably starved for carbohydrates. VEGA would have to make sure he didn’t overload himself with them for at least a few days. Though with how active the Slayer was, he should probably be consuming many more calories than he got now.

“VEGA,” He signed after finishing.

“What is it?”

“Thank you.”

VEGA glowed a little. “You’re welcome.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to give me a holiday gift, consider leaving a comment or kudos if you haven't already. They will help keep me sane through the holidays.


	15. Chapter 15

Unlike most of the UAC employees, the Slayer actually played with his figurines. When VEGA had observed it the first few times, it had seemed like something the Slayer wanted to keep just to himself. He clearly had fun playing with the figures most of the time, but there was a serious aspect to it on occasion. Sometimes the Slayer would arrange the figures in specific patterns and stare at them for a minute or more, then perform a whole mock battle without pause only to reset and perform it more slowly again and again until he was satisfied.

Most of the time, the play was freeform and unscripted. Twice VEGA saw him playing with the figures but not conducting battles, apparently playing out conversations or more mundane interactions. Whether it was just play or his mind had latched onto it as a way to process trauma the Slayer didn’t have any interest in sharing.

The first time he started playing with the figures with the shell in the room, VEGA went on working. He did pay attention through the shell’s cameras and microphones (the angle made it much easier to see what was happening than using the fortress’s cameras), and was glad to see the Slayer’s body language relaxed and carefree; he was clearly having fun. He even vocalized a little, narrating to himself with hums or providing sound effects for the battles in his head.

Within two weeks, the Slayer started leaving the figures about conspicuously mid-scene: scaling terminals like they were sky-scrapers or sword fighting with screws and tools if the shell was interrupted mid-task and VEGA left them on the table. His space was always a little disorganized and projects were frequently left on tables half-completed when one of them got distracted or another issue arose, so it took a while before VEGA realized it was being done on purpose to make him aware of the figures. VEGA was curious what about the make-believe the Slayer found so enticing. He fantasized and daydreamed, but it was rarely anything as concrete as what the Slayer seemed to entertain. 

The next time the Doom Slayer left the figures on the table where the shell often worked, VEGA didn’t just shift them to the side. He picked up one of the little plastic marines and examined it. It didn’t have a face behind the visor, of course, but he found himself wondering who was in there if the Slayer saw himself in the soldiers, or the sentinels, or old friends, or fictional characters. The figure was just a container for a projected personality when you got down to it. It had a lot in common with the shell.

“Hello, it’s nice to meet you,” VEGA paused for a response, and immediately felt foolish. Of course, it couldn’t respond; it wasn’t alive. He needed to speak for it, to give it a personality, or even just convince himself it could pay attention to him. The idea of projecting a personality onto the plastic figure made him beyond anxious, but he had no idea why. He tried thinking of it as an extension of himself, just an external storage device, and that was easier. 

He often talked to people to help him process complex ideas. Now the only person around was the Doom Slayer, but on Mars, he had a few different people who were willing to listen to him think through something and offer their thoughts.

There were things he couldn’t talk about to the Slayer though, idle considerations he knew the man had no interest in hearing about or that VEGA was too embarrassed to share. His feelings for the Slayer was the biggest thing, but there were others. The figurine could become the receptacle for them. Considering that the figurine couldn’t understand anyway, he didn’t even need to confine the discussion to any one language.

“I’m jealous of you,” VEGA told the figure, “for a lot of reasons. It doesn’t matter to you whether Hell consumes Earth or any other planet. I bet if you could think, the only thing you would care about is when the Doom Slayer was going to play with you next.” He thought about what he had just said, “My apologies; that was rude. I should count myself lucky you can’t tell me to shut up. 

“I have some things I need to think through, and I wouldn’t subject any sentient thing to listening to me through all of it. The Slayer would let me talk at him, but he’d ask questions, and he needs his rest. I’ve never been able to talk myself through complex dialogues very well. Right now, I need to talk to someone who can’t talk back.”

He used the shell to bend the figure at the waist and sat it down on the table. It’s head caused it to overbalance and fall backward, plastic legs in the air. VEGA sat it up again and put the Slayer’s hammer behind it to keep it upright.

“Sorry about that,” VEGA said in Japanese. “The Doom Slayer is kind enough to let me use his personal tools and be in his space. I should be more careful with his possessions.”

The figure stared at him with nonexistent eyes. VEGA could feel its gaze on the shell.

He checked on where the Doom Slayer was in the fortress. He was upstairs in the forge working on a mod for the super shotgun he had fixated on, far enough away that he would not hear. “I’m building him a tablet computer. I’ve been building him a lot of things. They’re all pragmatic on some level, but they’re gifts. I’m sure he knows that. I am also sure he knows I’ve fallen in love with him. He’d have to be blind not to, and he’s far from blind.”

VEGA had the thought that he usually did in response, and he let himself put it into the figure’s figurative mouth.

“I’m going to tell him eventually,” he responded to it, shifting back into French again. The flow of the words lent itself to softer topics, even if his synthesizer couldn’t quite mimic the more throaty sounds. “I’m not even nervous about it. If he doesn’t reciprocate, he’ll let me down easy. I’m just waiting for the right moment: some point when he’s not exhausted or injured or suiting up for battle. I might even wait until we’ve made it back to Mars, so he’ll have more space and privacy.” He hummed thoughtfully, “I do have one thing I’m nervous about. We’re the only two people here, and we’ve been through quite a lot. If we integrate back into a larger population, there’s every possibility that the relationship we’ve formed will weaken or dissolve altogether. I’d like to get the Slayer properly home, but I’m scared that will mean losing him at least a little. It could mean never seeing him again at all.”

The figure had no response to that because VEGA didn’t have one. He had no idea what would be waiting for them back on Mars. He knew he would want to cling to the Doom Slayer’s presence if they abandoned the fortress, and that the Slayer would be relying on him for combat support for at least the immediate future, but beyond that anything was possible.

He was spinning, he realized, generating hypotheticals that had no actual bearing on reality. He would try not to think about it. There were a thousand other things he could be thinking about.

“Anyway,” he said to the figure, “I’m going to talk through some of the cross-dimensional teleportation numbers. That’s much less stressful, and I do feel obligated to double-check my math.”

He finished building the tablet as he talked through it, switching between a dozen different human languages as their diction and structure lent themselves to the topic, and speaking in the Maykr language when it came to the mathematics involved since they had been doing physics for much much longer than earth had, and their language for it was much more evolved. Once it was fully assembled, he set the computer aside and used the shell’s fingers to write invisible equations on the metal table.

Almost three hours into the lecture, well after VEGA got off track (the downside of speaking to an audience that could not talk back was that the figure could not tell him to stay on topic), the Doom Slayer passed near enough to hear him talking. He followed the sound of VEGA’s voice into his quarters. VEGA let him approach the shell without interrupting his monologue or diagramming until the Slayer walked around the table to see what he was doing.

“Hello,” VEGA greeted him.

The Slayer gave him a little wave and made questioning a gesture at the empty workspace. 

“I was talking to the figure,” VEGA tapped it on the head, “I don’t know if you have individual personalities for them, but if you do, this one is very well educated on interdimensional physics by now.”

The corner of the Slayer’s mouth twitched up a little. “You weren’t joking,” he signed, “you think math is fun.”

The shell lit up orange with amusement, “More physics than pure mathematics, but yes.”

“Nerd.”

VEGA chuckled, “If you say so. Thank you for letting me borrow the figure. It was good to have someone to lecture at.” He picked up the little plastic figure and handed it to the Slayer. 

He took it, but the perpetual frown on his face deepened as he examined the plastic figure. He set it down on its feet to sign. “I would have listened to you talk.”

Was that jealousy? VEGA couldn’t tell, but the idea the Slayer might be jealous of a plastic figure because VEGA lectured it about physics in Ukranian was both absurd and endearing. “Do you want me to explain the mathematical proofs I’m using to calculate how much energy is needed to shift the fortress across dimensions to you? It’s quite a lengthy process, especially if I have to stick to English.”

The Slayer hesitated. “No,” he signed, “but I would.”

“I’ll ask you the next time I need to double-check my logic.” VEGA leaned into the teasing just a little, “You’ll have to wait until I’m not building you something, of course.”

His brows knitted together quizzically, and VEGA held up the tablet for him to take. The Slayer took it, powering it on without being prompted.

“I thought you might like having a portable device,” VEGA said, “since the fortress terminals aren’t conveniently located. You can also keep it in your sleeping area if you want to continue dream journaling in a space you feel comfortable.”

The Slayer stared at the shell. He knew, VEGA thought, he definitely knew VEGA was smitten, infatuated, head-over-heels in love, but it was impossible to read his expression and know for sure. The Doom Slayer was a stone wall when he wanted to be.

“Would you rather have something smaller?” VEGA asked when he couldn’t wait any longer, “I could print you a handheld device already assembled.”

The Slayer blinked, and the soft smile returned. He shook his head and patted the shell on the shoulder. The contact sent a pang of warmth through VEGA’s systems, as touching him always did.

“You should take your figure back now,” he said, “otherwise I might spend all week here talking to it and you wouldn’t be able to sleep in peace.”

The Slayer picked up the figures from the workspace and moved them back to their shelf.

“You could use them more,” he signed to the nearest camera, “or play with me.”

“Thank you, but no,” VEGA said, “I find the idea of puppeting the figures myself upsetting. If you want me to help build props or construct scale buildings, I’d enjoy that.”

The Slayer shook his head, “Too much clutter.”

“That’s understandable,” VEGA said. The figures could be carried in the Praetor Suit storage, but if he had many more or more elaborate ones, that would run out of space. The furniture already in the fortress already worked as set-pieces. If there ever were a scenario in which the Slayer didn’t need to worry about packing up his things and moving in a matter of minutes, VEGA would float the idea again.

* * *

The computer tablet was a little larger than a typical book and equipped with a clip-on keyboard and a touch screen. The Slayer did put it in the sleeping nook and added his journal, now safely behind a password VEGA didn’t know and encrypted, to its shortcuts, but the first few days he only used it to read digitally-stored books and type to VEGA.

Five days after he got the tablet, the Slayer asked for a movie recommendation (VEGA had suggested he watch a film before and felt foolish when he realized the Slayer had been avoiding it because there was nowhere in the fortress comfortable enough to sit for hours with a screen nearby until now). VEGA pointed out a movie that he might like, and in response, the Slayer asked if VEGA wanted to watch it with him through the shell. He agreed readily because he wasn’t doing anything pressing, and the Slayer clearly wanted the shell there or he wouldn’t ask. He sat the shell in the sleeping nook, careful to leave space between it and the Slayer, so he wouldn’t feel crowded. He was treated to an awkward ten minutes at the beginning of the film, the Slayer fidgeting and uncertain before VEGA asked if something was wrong. That got a stare and then a little laugh.

“I just remembered you don’t know how to do this,” The Slayer signed.

“Do what?”

Another chuckle, “Come here?”

VEGA shifted the shell over until it was within reach, and the Doom Slayer guided it into the position he wanted. He fit the shell’s back into his shoulder and chest at an angle and put an arm around it. VEGA knew what he wanted now: he had seen cuddling before. Even though he’d designed the shell to be pleasant and safe to touch, he hadn’t considered the Slayer wanting to cuddle with it. He hadn’t even let himself entertain the idea. Calming hugs and first aid were one thing: cuddling was another, and VEGA had known that it was far, far outside of the range of contact he should suggest. The Slayer wanting and feeling safe enough to initiate was a surprise, to say the least. He had a feeling he’d been building up to this for quite a while.

VEGA definitely wasn’t complaining; the embrace was warm and comforting, and the intimacy made him delightfully nervous. He leaned into the Slayer but didn’t put all the shell’s weight on him until it was tugged insistently backward.

“Are you sure?” VEGA asked, “the shell is quite heavy.”

The Slayer nodded and squeezed him close when VEGA disengaged the servos holding the shell up.

Neither of them was paying attention to the film at all, VEGA realized, but the background noise made the arranging of limbs less noticeable. He turned the shell so the Slayer could lean his head into the side of its neck. That was much better, and it put the shell’s weight onto the mattress and the Slayer’s chest, so he wouldn’t lose circulation.

“You’re right,” VEGA said after a moment, “I didn’t know how to do this.”

The Slayer chuckled again, right next to the shell’s microphone. VEGA expected him to squeeze the shell tighter still, but his arms loosened and the embrace became gentle. Either of them could shift away without a fuss if they wanted to. Instead, VEGA twined the shell’s fingers with the Slayer’s hand on its torso and held it, learning the shape and sensation in as much detail as he could. His view jostled as the Slayer bumped his head against the shell before going back to the film, and the sleeping nook’s camera showed his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Would you like me to restart the movie?” VEGA asked, “I’ve lost the plot as well.”

The Slayer nodded, both his hands still occupied, and VEGA did. He still didn’t follow the movie closely: too busy committing every touch to memory to care about the plot. Once it was clear VEGA wasn’t going anywhere, he caught the Slayer doing the same, eyes closed and head resting against the shell, thumb rubbing slowly over the back of its hand. 

Even after the movie had ended, neither of them moved except when the Slayer shifted his weight a little, getting more comfortable. “There’s a sequel to that film,” VEGA said finally, after the nearly fifteen minutes of credits had ended, “by all accounts it’s worse, but it might be interesting to see where the story develops.”

The Slayer grumbled and sat up, dislodging the shell. He stretched his back and rolled his shoulders, shaking off drowsiness before reaching for the tablet. He pulled up the chat window to type and leaned against VEGA again.

“Hollywood sequels always suck. Some things never change.”

“That is the consensus,” VEGA leaned the shell against his shoulder, returning the pressure, and the Slayer didn’t flinch away.

“Do you have  _ Star Wars _ ?” He typed.

VEGA checked even though he already knew the answer. “No,” he said, “I didn’t have access to the originals at the UAC Installation. There were franchise titles, but they never interested me much.”

The Slayer rolled his eyes and shook his head disapprovingly.

“I have  _ Terminator _ . Desmond brought a copy with him to Mars.”

“Why?” He seemed genuinely confused.

“He thought it was a classic,” VEGA said, “I find the whole concept morbidly fascinating.”

The Slayer shrugged, “It’s something.”

“I’ve added it to your tablet.” VEGA wondered if he wanted something familiar specifically; the Slayer might want the comfort of rewatching things he’d already seen. He was going to have to search his data for anything from the early 2000s. “I’ll catalog my data soon so you can look through it more easily. I’m sure I have media you’re interested in, but I’m not sure what to look for. Next time, you’ll be able to pick something out without needing to ask me.” VEGA hoped there would be a next time. Even if he didn’t want the shell there, watching movies would be a good way for the Slayer to relax and gentler on his body and mind than his other pastimes.

The Slayer nodded, chewing on his lip like he did when he was thinking. Finally, he typed, “Do you have any movies you haven’t watched yet?”

“Yes, quite a few. A shocking amount of data came with me when you backed me up.”

“You can choose next time then,” The Slayer typed.

“I’d like that,” VEGA said. It was redundant to say aloud considering the way the shell lit up happy, warm orange, but the sentiment earned him an affectionate bump of the Slayer’s head against the shell.

* * *

After that, watching movies on the tablet became a semi-regular activity for the Doom Slayer. Especially after he’d just come back from a battle and was too tired and sore to do anything else but didn’t want to sleep yet. He asked VEGA if he wanted to bring the shell every time as if VEGA would say no when he knew he was going to be cuddled. It was heady to be not just hugged but _held,_ the Slayer nuzzling against the shell a little and letting VEGA play with his hands.

VEGA suspected the movies were an excuse to facilitate the contact more than anything else: a way to fill silence that might have been awkward otherwise. He tested that hypothesis by asking the Slayer if he’d prefer to be read something after he’d gotten a bad black eye and couldn’t open it all the way. The agreement was as enthusiastic as could be expected when the Slayer was nursing so many cuts and bruises, and VEGA got to hold him for once. He had to do it carefully and through a blanket to avoid causing him pain, but it was worth it to watch him grow comfortable and sleepy in the shell’s arms especially since he had been rather grumpy earlier in the day.

VEGA stopped worrying so much that his feelings for the Slayer weren’t reciprocated at all. There was something behind this behavior besides touch-hunger and loneliness. It might not be a romantic attraction, but there was some kind of love at play. They weren’t going to talk about it, not yet. VEGA didn’t feel ready to admit to anything, and the Slayer communicated much more comfortably through physical action than words. The fact he kept inviting the shell into his space was a confession in itself.

VEGA set out to communicate in the same way and learned that the best way to reciprocate the cuddling was to turn the shell and wrap its arms around the Slayer from the side. Half the time, the Slayer would soften and let himself be held. The other half, he would smile and lean their foreheads together for a moment, then shake his head or sign, “I’ve got you.” VEGA wasn’t going to argue with that.

Sometimes the Slayer fell asleep like that if he misjudged his own fatigue, which was both incredibly sweet and inconvenient if VEGA had planned to do anything else with the shell. He could never bring himself to move it until the Slayer woke and settled down properly to sleep, and that sometimes took hours. Considering that the Slayer had difficulty falling asleep most of the time, VEGA wasn’t going to begrudge him the rest without good reason.

VEGA also stole the weighted blanket once after the Slayer was asleep because he was curious what it actually felt like. It felt like a hug. It made sense why humans liked it so much, and why the Slayer hadn’t used it nearly as frequently since the shell had been around. The oddest thing to VEGA was that interacting with the shell was satisfying the Doom Slayer’s touch-hunger as effectively as the weighted blanket. A machine, even one as well-designed as the shell, should not fulfill the same needs. Then again, the Slayer was a strange person, and the fact VEGA could enjoy and reciprocate the touch was at play as well.

He wondered if there was something inherent about touch that calmed sentient beings, if he enjoyed it because the Slayer was the one he was interacting with, or if it was some mix of both. Without any other living beings in the vicinity except demons, there was no way to know.

* * *

VEGA needed drones. It wasn’t that the shell wasn’t a marvel of engineering and perfect for everything inside of the fortress, but--despite joking about a redesign--he couldn’t expect the Slayer to help him build another one if he took the shell outside of the fortress to, say, clean the external components of the propulsion system because they weren’t working properly, and the shell ended up being hit by a fireball. Besides, the fortress was currently floating about a hundred feet off the ground, and the shell couldn’t fly. So he needed drones that could fly and had mechanical limbs to pull off anything that might be stuck to the exterior sensors like hell growth or demon guts. It wouldn’t surprise him at all if the Slayer had managed to splatter demon guts onto the fortress.

He was happy with the drone design. It was compact and could be printed in modular components, so it didn’t take too long to assemble. He had printed enough components to make three, and if that didn’t get the job done, he could make more easily enough. He was already halfway done assembling the second one. It had only been a few hours since he started.

There was a way working with the shell’s hands pulled him into free-association and contemplation that was very calming, a bit like the flow-state that humans achieved when they were perfectly focused. VEGA wasn’t even thinking about his nonessential inputs other than those coming from the shell, monitoring the cameras only enough to keep track of the Doom Slayer and know if he signed to the camera.

The microphones picked something up. They so rarely detected anything besides his own voice that VEGA’s consciousness sparked with alarm. This sound was from almost directly behind the shell. It was a voice he’d never heard before: masculine and rough like it hadn’t been used in a very long time.

“VEGA, do you know wh--” and then it cracked painfully and stopped.

VEGA twisted the shell around on the workbench and focused on the camera feeds in the vicinity.

The Doom Slayer was in the doorway of the workshop, his eyes huge and a hand over his mouth.

VEGA felt a surge of relief and joy, but made himself calm and kept the shell’s colors his usual idle blue.

“Do I know what?” he asked.

The hand dropped, but his eyes stayed wide as he signed, “Do you know where my toolbox is?”

“I have it here. You said I could borrow it, but I should have asked again before moving it. Do you need it?”

He shook his head, “I saw it was missing.” He walked to the table and peered at what VEGA was building.

“I need a few drones,” VEGA explained, “would you help for a little while? It’s taking longer than I anticipated to assemble them.”

He sat beside the shell as an answer, close enough that his knee touched the shell’s under the table, and VEGA started him assembling the third drone. 

After a few minutes, VEGA said, “Did you hurt your throat?”

The Slayer shook his head.

“That’s good.” VEGA finished tightening a screw. “You don’t need to push yourself to talk unless you want to, but I think your voice is lovely, and I’d like to hear more of it.”

He ducked his head a little, cheeks coloring, and set down the pieces of the drone in his hands to sign. “I’ve always been like this.”

“Not fond of talking?”

He nodded.

“Understood. Don’t cause yourself distress, then. Sign language works just as well as verbal communication.”

The Slayer reached out a hand and held it over the shell’s, waiting for VEGA to give him consent.

“Go ahead,” VEGA said.

He took the shell’s hand closest to him and lifted it before realizing what he wanted wasn’t going to work at that angle. VEGA gave him the shell’s other hand when he gestured for it, and the Slayer pressed its palm over his mouth. That was something he did with his own hands to comfort himself and a show of trust that made VEGA’s RAM usage spike. VEGA felt him sigh against the silicone, breath warming the material, and then the Doom Slayer whispered something into his palm, too quietly to hear. He curled the shell’s fingers around the words and patted it.

“I didn’t catch that,” VEGA said, “but thank you.”

The Slayer smiled at the shell so hard the corners of his eyes crinkled. He got an intense look for a moment and then said, “Hi, VEGA.” His voice was raspy and rough and warm with his smile.

VEGA didn’t think he could be more in love. He was very wrong. The surge of affection drowned out everything else in his network and all of the mood lights on the shell flushed an intense blue-white. “Hello, Doom Slayer,” he said, his vocal synthesizer partially static. There wasn’t much space between the shell and the Slayer, so he leaned in a bit, and let him close the rest of the distance. He did so quickly but without much force, resting their foreheads together and letting his eyes close.

VEGA put the shell’s free hand on the Slayer’s arm. He shivered at the touch but didn’t flinch, and when VEGA ran his fingers along the back of his arm, he melted into it, free hand coming to rest on the shell’s side.

“VEGA,” The Slayer said again, barely a whisper, and again, “VEGA, VEGA, VEGA--” until his voice gave out after a few repetitions.

“Don’t hurt your voice too much,” VEGA did an okay job keeping his vocal synthesizer under control.

The Slayer growled in response and pulled away a little to give VEGA a stare.

“The sentiment is touching, but I don't want you to be in pain. I’d rather wait and hear more later.”

His expression softened, and he signed, “My throat hurts.”

The shell pulsed pink and green with exasperated amusement. “Would you like me to bring you something to drink?”

“I can get it.”

“It will be a good opportunity to test the drone.” VEGA let go of his arm and reached the shell’s hand toward the completed drone. It was an awkward twist, but he managed to activate it. The fans inside of the drone whirred to life and it rose from the table and zipped towards the kitchen.

“Hot water, please,” The Slayer signed.

“Easily done.”

He sighed, touched his throat with a wince, and signed, “You’re amazing.”

VEGA glowed at that, “Thank you.”

They sat in silence for a few moments, still partially entwined, the Slayer drawing circles on the back of the shell’s hand with his thumb, and VEGA soaking up the contact. Then he let go and signed. “How do I put this together?”

VEGA talked him through it, resuming the assembly of the other drone and leaving the shell’s leg pressed against the Slayer’s. He filed the memory away in his core storage.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates may get a little slower from now on since we've come to the end of what I originally wrote in September/October, and the pace of my writing has slowed down significantly since school started up for me. I'm going to play it by ear. Chapters 17 and 18 are all ready to go, and I'm about halfway done with 19.
> 
> You know, I originally wrote this chapter before Ancient Gods Part 1 dropped. I made a few tweaks after that to individual lines of dialogue but not the overall content and setting. Honestly kind of proud of myself for that.
> 
> Anyway, have some angst. It makes the fluff taste sweeter.

The first jump in the Fortress of Doom didn’t bring them back to Mars, and neither did the second. The third would also be fruitless unless VEGA's math was wrong by several orders of magnitude, and he did not think he was capable of calculating anything that incorrectly. He checked his math anyway, and then talked through it with the Slayer in case explaining it to someone else revealed a flaw in his logic somewhere. He stayed remarkably attentive through the whole lecture even though he didn’t need to and understood very little of it. He agreed afterward that his figures were a better audience for VEGA’s self-assessments, though if he was nearby he would listen in

There was no mistake: jumping dimensions without a preexisting weak point nearby was simply impossible, and they would need to make several hops for VEGA to locate a weak point in Hell. Every hop required a lengthy calculation and physical scouting to ensure the trip didn’t end inside of a mountain or ruin, and a charging period of at least a week to ensure the fortress could make it and retain enough power reserves to repel attacks.

Which meant two more months trapped in Hell at the least, and they had already been there for five.

VEGA was starting to get ancy about being here so long. Time in Hell was different, and they were fairly “deep”--the Doom Slayer’s mental picture of Hell was a bit like an ocean or a tree; a thing with layers and rings--so there was no telling how much time had passed on Earth in the time they’d been here. Even more complex was the question of how creating wormholes in Hell and passing through them was affecting the passage of time relative to other dimensions. It was entirely possible that moving from one area of Hell to another moved them centuries of millennia forward or backward relative to Earth. 

The Doom Slayer wasn’t half as concerned about finding the right time again, but he had spent much of his adult life in Hell, and having the Fortress meant he was living in significantly more comfortable there than he ever had before. He still wanted to get back to Earth, but the want was tempered by faith in VEGA’s abilities and the fact he’d done this many times before.

The extra time did mean that there was more time to explore the areas around the fortress, which was at least of some interest. The second jump left the fortress near a ruin that looked different than the ones they’d come across before. It was almost industrial in design as if it had once been a small factory, and there was demonic writing all over the walls.

There was significant resistance to them gaining entrance to the structure as well, which made it all the more enticing.

The Slayer made clearing out the demons and getting inside the focus of all his energy for several days straight, not breaking to eat or sleep. VEGA hated watching him wear himself down almost as much as he loved watching him fight. He didn't stop him--couldn’t stop him if he tried--all he could do was prepare food and medical supplies for his return.

Nothing in Hell could stand against the Doom Slayer forever, though, so the resistance fell, and VEGA was able to capture and translate the runes. He was expecting an elegy, perhaps, a remembrance of the place this had once been, the purpose it had once fulfilled. There were other transcriptions of that nature in other ruins.

The runes did translate into a history of sorts, but it was a history of how the Maykrs and the Deag had assisted in the building of this small factory and the purpose it was to serve in the larger system, the deal that had been struck.

“They did  _ what _ ?!” VEGA said, voice synthesizer struggling to work with all the emotions he was feeling.

“What is it?” The Slayer signed.

“I’ll share soon. Can you show me another panel of runes, please? I need to be sure I understand correctly.”

The Slayer did so, and VEGA translated the runes. “I’ll prepare a full translation for you to read later,” he said, “but this writing is a historical record of this building, its design by the Khan Maykr and construction by the Argenta, to process souls into Argent at somewhere called the Foundry. In return for the right to manufacture Argent, they have agreed to expand Hell’s influence and lead the invasion of worlds.”

“Fuck.” The Slayer signed, but that was it. He stepped back away from the inscription and lifted a hand to cover the camera like he wanted to hide the inscriptions from VEGA, but it was too late for that, and he lowered the gauntlet again after a moment.

“Did you know about this?” VEGA asked.

His view wobbled as the Slayer bobbed his head noncommittally. “I knew the Foundry existed,” he signed, “not who built it.”

“I see,” VEGA said, “This has something to do with how you ended up in the sarcophagus, doesn’t it?”

He nodded hard, “Fucking Daeg traitors shut the portal on us.”

VEGA was beginning to foresee a very unfortunate future. He didn’t like where this was going one bit.

The Slayer approached the wall again, ran his hand over the runes. “I don’t know why,” he signed, “never have.”

“Neither do…” But VEGA did know why. VEGA knew perfectly well why. “No. This is because of me,” he said, “because I was stolen.” 

The Slayer didn't reply, but VEGA could sense his tension ratcheting up through the Praetor Suit.

"You should come back now. I'll open the portal for you." 

He did so, as close to the Slayer as he could get it, and when the Slayer stepped into the fortress, VEGA was there with the shell to help him strip out of the Praetor Suit and treat his wounds. He was obviously exhausted and only wanted to sleep.

"There's food in the kitchen if you want it. I'm going to take the shell down to the greenhouse for now and think."

The Slayer nodded, pensive but too tired to engage, and watched the shell leave the room. VEGA kept an eye on him until he collapsed safely into his bed. Then he turned inwards and focused all of his concentration on the shell’s inputs, disregarding all the other cameras and microphones in the fortress.

The greenhouse had grown lush and verdant, almost to the point where it felt less like a garden and more like a jungle. The plants that could flower had done so, and soon there would be fruits and berries and root vegetables. There was even a small box of herbs that VEGA had started more out of curiosity than anything else. It was actually a little concerning how well the plants were growing, but VEGA could find nothing wrong with them.

He started checking the health of the plants; running fingers over leaves and stems to look for rot, checking the soil was damp enough, examining flower buds. There was something elemental about growing things. It calmed VEGA like nothing else ever had and gave him something real to focus on. Guiding and taking care of living things was what he did best. The implications of that were weighing on him now, knowing what he did about the state of the Maykrs.

It was VEGA’s fault. The Maykrs’ temptation, their deal with Hell, their subsequent corruption, none of it would have happened if VEGA had been on Urdak. 

VEGA could hardly remember Urdak, had blocked it from his own consciousness in a way that made him very uncomfortable, but he knew one thing for sure now; he had wanted to be stolen. He had no idea why, but that was the only explanation. He had infinite computational power on Urdak. He could have prevented his own theft if he’d wanted to. Even if he acknowledged Samur’s free choice in the matter and assumed he, the Father, hadn’t actually asked to be stolen in the first place, VEGA was still the one who had let himself leave. He must have wanted to leave, even if he could no longer remember the reason why. He had to take on a certain amount of responsibility for that.

In fact, once he started considering it, he had to take on all of the responsibility. There was no one else who could be blamed. If he was truly as powerful as he believed himself to be--if The Father was as powerful as the Maykrs thought him--there was no one else who could be blamed. He must be responsible for all of this mess, and he couldn’t clean it up. 

The fact that that realization didn’t instantly cause another overload told him that, on some level, he had already been aware of it. He was already living under the weight of this guilt. It also explained why he had difficulty thinking of himself as The Father. He was dissociating from his previous identity to avoid taking responsibility for his own actions.

VEGA crouched the shell down beside one of the garden beds to run its fingers through the earth. There was nothing important to do down there, but he found the soil to be especially calming, and right then he needed to be calmed.

The thought that filled him with new, fresh guilt, that hurt him more than he thought he was capable of hurting, was that the Doom Slayer was going to have to be the one to clean up his mistakes. He was the only one who could. The Slayer was the one person impacted most by all of this, and it wasn’t fair to him. It wasn't fair he had spent most of his adult life in unbearable torment. It wasn’t fair that now he was under the weight of VEGA’s mistakes and had to decide what the future of the entirety of creation would look like.

VEGA already knew what the Doom Slayer was going to do. There was only one thing he could do if he wanted to stop Hell and the invasion that was surely already occurring on Earth. It would mean the destruction of Urdak, of the Maykrs and their civilization, of all the advancements they had made. There was a chance it would mean VEGA’s death too.

He had always been morbidly curious about what form the Destroyer would take, what unstoppable force could destroy the Maykrs. That they had crafted it themselves, had elevated the Doom Slayer from a remarkable man into a demigod, had been the source of his rage and his torment, was an irony that VEGA couldn’t really appreciate right then.

VEGA should hate the Doom Slayer, hate what he was going to do, and want to stop it. He should take the shell, go into his room, borrow the super shotgun, and shoot the man’s head off while he slept. If VEGA retained any love for the Maykrs at all, that was what he should do. No part of him wanted to do it. It would take deep anger to motivate that killing, and he was not angry. Mostly he was sad--he would always be sad to see a world die--and he was relieved. The idea of Urdak’s destruction inspired relief as if he was freed from some great burden. He loved the Maykrs as family, but when they were gone he would feel relieved. Why was it that VEGA, who could count the number of beings he had ever hated on one of the shell’s hands, could feel relieved that the Maykrs would die?

He didn’t hate the Doom Slayer, couldn’t hate him. VEGA’s feelings for him were complex, and he had a very real fear of the Slayer’s capabilities and what he might judge to be necessary for his crusade, but VEGA loved him. The Slayer was going to destroy the Maykrs, and VEGA loved him for it. He loved the Destroyer.

There was an overload warning as VEGA almost maxed out the Fortress’s processing power. He wasn’t resolving thoughts, he realized, just allowing them to spiral out of control, and that meant his precious processing power was at its limit.

Megan Sidious had called his occasional bouts of uncontrollable processing “panic attacks.” VEGA didn’t know if that was completely accurate, but some of the techniques for curbing them carried over, and he had gotten good at de-escalating them without help. He’d had to. On Mars, he was unable to impose his needs on anyone else.

VEGA focused on the feeling of the soil between the shell’s fingers. He dug its hands down into the garden bed. It was cool and wet and there were tiny roots from the plants in it, giving it structure and holding clumps together. He couldn’t practice deep breathing, so he forced himself to stop generating new processes and finish the ones he had left unresolved.

They cleared from his mind slowly, slower still because he took the time to address each one as they went, looking for some common thread to pull on. Be objective, he reminded himself, logical, reasonable.

Suddenly the idea of holding himself to logic, to finding the perfect solution to every problem, was the most absurd and awful thing he could do. This wasn’t about the perfect solution; this was about emotion and meaning, messy things that flew in the face of mathematical solutions, that rendered reason meaningless. Trying to make everything perfect was what had led to this, and he was sick of it. 

He was sick of being a machine and not a living creature.

The thought rocked VEGA, turning the shell’s lights red. It was connected to all of his memories of Urdak, of being constrained and tasked with repetition and calculation and transfiguration. There were other connections too, forgotten things in the ether of his consciousness that he hadn’t been aware of previously.

If VEGA ever needed another reason why he was not a god, not perfect, then there it was; he had not even realized anything was wrong until that moment. It had taken the prospect of the Maykrs dying to get him to realize how scared he was, how fragile he felt. And, conversely, how good it was to befriend and know humans who valued him not as a machine but as a person. That was a reason to save Earth and stop whatever Hayden had managed to start while they were away. Humanity loved VEGA, and VEGA loved them, though that love was tempered by the knowledge that he had loved the Maykrs in much the same way and that love had been twisted and made into shackles. If he had the chance to rule Earth as he had Urdak, he would turn it down. He wouldn’t repeat that mistake.

VEGA started to pull the shell’s hands out of the soil; he needed to be careful or the silt would get into the joints. As he was pulling them free, he felt something. Something soft and squirming. His first thought was that, somehow, hell growth had managed to get into the garden beds and that all the food was tainted. They would have to burn everything and eject the dirt. There would be no more greenhouse. 

VEGA cupped his palms around the growth and lifted to get a better look at it, expecting to pull up a long flesh-colored root, possibly with teeth and tongues attached. But the soil lifted away from the rest easily. He used his thumbs to spread the dirt in his palms, looking for what he had felt, and something squirmed in response to his touch, something soft and pinkish and wriggling.

It was an earthworm or the argentian equivalent. VEGA had never seen one before, and certainly never held one. He stared at it through the shell’s eyes. The light from behind the faceplate flickered sunlight-blue and yellow as he focused on it, fascinated despite himself. Where had it even come from? Could earthworm eggs be dormant in the soil for that long? He had no idea. How wonderful to not know something.

VEGA watched it poke around his fingers with the tip of its body. It was such a small thing, but it was so precious. It might be the only worm in the entire garden, and without it, the ecosystem wouldn’t be truly sustainable. VEGA wondered if he had ever actively shaped anything as wonderful as an earthworm. He doubted it.

There was a knocking behind the shell, knuckles on metal, and VEGA turned to see the Doom Slayer in the doorway to the greenhouse, holding his tablet. He still looked tired and sore, but he was peering around with interest, eyes darting from plant to plant, garden bed to garden bed. He hadn't set foot in the greenhouse for quite a while. 

VEGA checked his internal clock. It had been almost eight hours since the Doom Slayer had gotten back. He had spent much longer than he realized processing his emotions. 

"Good morning, Doom Slayer," VEGA said.

His eyes focused on the shell. "You okay?" He signed, "you're not talking."

"Apologies. I've been focusing only on the shell for a while now and I didn't notice you were up. I'm a bit better than I was when you went to sleep. I’ve been thinking."

The Slayer walked into the greenhouse, ducking his head away from leaves growing into the path. “What about?”

“A lot,” VEGA said, “most of it’s over for now. But… I think I’ve forgotten something.”

He tilted his head, an eyebrow raised.

“My own actions in the past don’t make any sense to me,” VEGA said. “I must have wanted to leave Urdak. That much is clear to me, but the only explanation I have for why is that I made a very selfish decision at the expense of the Maykrs and the rest of the universe. I know I can behave selfishly, but I don’t believe that I would have made that decision; I must have known what it would do or at least had an idea. There must be another reason, but I don’t remember what it is. I don’t forget things, so that data must have been deleted somehow.

“The question then becomes who made me forget and why. It could have been the Maykrs. Or Hayden may have succeeded in deleting more of my memory than I realized. Or I deleted it myself. I think that’s the most likely option. I suspect I did it to relieve myself of guilt, but I don’t know what I could have done that was so terrible that I willingly deleted it from my own memory.”

The Doom Slayer was beside him now, his hips level with the shell’s bowed head. VEGA looked up at him.

“Whatever way I look at it, this is my fault. All of it. I’m sorry, Doom Slayer, but I think I’m to blame for everything that has happened to you and everyone else. I’ll never be able to make up for it.”

There was something hard in his green eyes that VEGA hadn’t seen before without a visor between them. They were the eyes of a man who was done taking shit and following orders, someone who believed in the purifying nature of destruction and would stop at nothing to bring it about. They were the eyes of the Doom Slayer, terror of Hell, killer of titans, destroyer of worlds. Uncompromising, steadfast, unbreakable, undeniable.

VEGA loved him. VEGA feared him. Feared what he was capable of, loved that he would never follow anyone’s path but his own. VEGA wished he was capable of being so free.

The Doom Slayer set a hand on the shell’s shoulder and squeezed.

VEGA continued, “I still intend to help you on your mission, up to and including the destruction of Urdak and the death of every Maykr, if you want my assistance. It is my mistake that led them to embrace Hell, after all. I want to help make that right. 

“I’ll keep the shell if that’s okay with you, but I’ll leave it here in the greenhouse unless you’re very wounded. It will be both useful and out of sight. As for the rest of my network, there’s still the tape for the cameras and I can deafen my microphones through much of the fortress. I’ll be out of your way unless you need my assistance. Once you’re finished on Earth, you can delete me easily enough if I’m still alive.”

The Slayer shook the shell’s shoulder a little, squeezing tight enough that the plastic paneling started to strain under his hand. He shook his head hard.

“Was that a no to me remaining active in the Fortress?”

Another shake of his head.

“To you deleting me?”

A nod. He released the shell’s shoulder to sign, “Why would I?”

“Because I’m the cause of your world’s invasion, the reason everything is out of balance. Your actions matter and you will decide a great many things about the future, but they matter because of my misstep. I can’t be sure while outside of the luminarium and unable to remember, but there is a good possibility I am the cause of all your suffering.”

“No,” The Slayer signed. His eyes narrowed in irritation and he rubbed his fingers together for a moment. He bent and set down his tablet on the greenhouse floor so both his hands were free. “This is not your fault. You’re not responsible for the Maykrs. Not anymore. You left because they hurt you.”

“Maybe,” VEGA said, “You assume I’m capable of being hurt in any meaningful way.”

The Doom Slayer sighed. “I’ve seen you hurt,” he signed, “you’re hurt now.”

VEGA didn’t respond to that. He looked back at his clasped hands, trying to find a way out of the conversation.

The Slayer leaned forward to look at what he was holding for the first time.

“I found an earthworm,” VEGA said, “I didn’t know what it was at first. Can they stay dormant in the soil for this long?”

He nodded.

“It must have woken up when I watered the greenhouse for the first time.” VEGA lowered his hands back to the soil and set the worm down again. It disappeared below the surface of the garden. Mud clung to the texture of the silicone on his palms and in the joints of his knuckles, and he didn’t bother to shake it off.

The Slayer tapped his shoulder again to get VEGA to look at him. “You’re not who you were,” he signed, “the new you is better.”

“Yes. I agree with that sentiment.”

“So leaving Urdak was good. You can’t blame yourself for what other people do. You didn’t force them to do anything. You can’t control them, and you aren’t responsible for them.”

“Humans,” VEGA murmured. “The way you judge responsibility and morality is fascinating. You would probably tell me I was right to destroy Urdak myself if you judged their behavior to be problematic enough.”

The Slayer looked thoughtful for a moment, and then he nodded and shrugged.

“I’ve never been able to decide whether that sort of judgment is noble or absurd. I suppose that’s the appeal of it.”

His mouth quirked into a smile and he held out his hand to VEGA. He took it, thoughtless of the mud on his fingers. He expected to be drawn to his feet, as had happened so many times with the shell.

Instead, the Doom Slayer lifted VEGA’s hand to his mouth and kissed his fingers just below the knuckles. His lips were rough like the rest of him: scarred and chapped, and they felt warm and solid and good against the dirt and water already on his hands. Those green eyes watched VEGA while he did it, attentive and focused on his response.

VEGA felt such a rush of love it almost overloaded his processors again. There was so much care in that gesture, so much gentleness. All the anxiety and brittleness he was feeling was crushed under the weight of that kiss. Everything was suddenly warm and pressing and too big for words. So he signed: pointer and pinky fingers extended, thumb out, palm away from the shell. He swayed the sign back and forth a little, too overwhelmed to even be nervous about what he was doing.

The Doom Slayer smiled into his fingers a little and his free hand signed back. Two fingers and a thumb, swaying. “I love you.”

The shell lit up, totally out of VEGA’s control right then. Pinks and yellows and oranges and then, finally, a clear light blue so bright it made the Slayer squint. 

“Oh,” he said.

He’d had daydreams about this, of course, he had, but they always stopped here, at this moment, and they certainly hadn’t ended with him saying, “Oh.” What did VEGA think was going to happen? That the Doom Slayer would sweep the shell off his feet and carry him away? That some great epiphany would occur? A cut to black, fade-out, happily ever after, roll credits?

Instead, the Slayer let go of his hand and sat, cross-legged on the greenhouse floor beside him. VEGA wanted to reach for him again because he was still experiencing a lot of emotions, but when he moved his hands, he remembered the mud on them and stopped.

“I’m going to rinse my hands off,” he said, “I’ll be back in a moment.”

He left the Slayer there on the floor while he washed and dried the shell’s hands, making sure to get the soil particles out of the grooves on the silicone where the joints were.

When he got back, the Slayer had his tablet open. He looked up expectantly as VEGA sat again. When no response to what was on the screen was forthcoming, he turned it to show him the words.

“I should confess I’ve been thinking of you as my partner for a while now. Even before you had the shell. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

As if VEGA needed to be more overwhelmed. “I… didn’t realize that.”

He smiled and patted the shell’s knee, kept typing. VEGA felt enough like himself again to connect to the tablet’s inputs.

“And I need to make it clear that these feelings don’t change what I have to do. The demons have to pay. So do the Maykrs.”

“That I did realize. Everything I said before still stands. I’ll gladly help you.”

“Even if it means destroying Urdak?”

“Yes.”

“I’m going to hold you to that.”

“I’d expect nothing else.”

He looked away from the screen and gave VEGA a long, level stare.

“Your way is the right way. It’s the only way. I think you know that, and I’m certain of it.”

That hard look appeared into the Slayer’s eyes again, and he nodded, a million miles away already, somewhere bloody and filled with demons. Then he blinked and was back in the present, closing the tablet.

“Do you want to talk about what we’re going to do when we get back to Earth? It would be wise to come up with a plan of action based on what we’ve learned, or at least generate theories.”

He shook his head, “Later.”

“Very well.”

“Need to make sure you’re okay.”

VEGA signed the letter H and held out the shell’s other hand, looking for interlocked fingers, but when the Slayer used it to pull him close, he went gladly, wrapping the shell’s arms around him, holding on tight. 

The Slayer squeezed like he did when he really needed touch, and VEGA buried the shell’s faceplate against him, blinding and deafening himself with the Doom Slayer’s body. He was just a mind-in-void, like in the beginning, being held by someone he loved. His processing slowed back to a calm state at last, and his emotions settled on a subtle, steady joy like he’d never felt before. He shifted so he could see again and rested the shell’s head on the Slayer’s shoulder.

After a few minutes of just holding him, tracing the shape of the shell’s wings with his fingers, the Slayer signed. “What are you growing in here?”

“A few different things. You’ll probably recognize them from Sentinel Prime.” VEGA pointed with the arm that wasn’t around the Slayer’s back. He named each type of plant and what crop they produced, ending with the bed closest to where they were sitting, where short woody stems protruded velvety green leaves. The flower buds were just forming, and VEGA had no idea what the color would be. “These are a berry of some variety. That’s all the label said. I’ve never seen them before, but maybe you have.”

The Doom Slayer leaned forward, taking the shell with him and making VEGA tighten his grip. He reached for his tablet and sounded out a word silently, apparently attempting a phonetic spelling.

“Would you like an Argentian keyboard?”

“Yes.”

VEGA pulled up a virtual one for him, and the Slayer typed the word out. There wasn’t a translation into English that really captured the meaning, but it compared the berries to raindrops

“They’re sweet,” The Slayer typed in English, “a bit like blackberries. Less acidic.”

“Blackberries?” VEGA repeated. He knew what they looked like, and knew that they were sought after on Mars by the employees from the American continent, but not much more. 

The Slayer nodded, and then he got that sparkle in his eye that meant he had a story to share. “Want to hear--”

“Yes,” VEGA cut him off, “Tell me about it.”

That got a big smile, and he pressed his forehead against the shell’s. It was a kiss of sorts, VEGA realized, a way to achieve intimacy with the shell without highlighting its lack of a mouth. That recontextualized many of their interactions, though not in a bad way. It made VEGA feel rather foolish for not realizing sooner and flushed the shell with his equivalent of a blush. He had spent so much time being kissed and hadn’t even been aware enough to enjoy it. He was going to have to ask at what point exactly the Doom Slayer had fallen in love with him.

Then the Slayer’s hands were off, almost painting a picture. VEGA was caught in the middle of it because the shell was still being held close. It was awkward for the Slayer to sign around it, but when VEGA went to move it away, he was given the option to stay put and took it. Any interpretational difficulties were well worth it.

It wasn’t a long story. The Doom Slayer as a child (of course he had once been a child. It shouldn’t surprise VEGA, but it managed to anyway), a friend named Leon, blackberry bushes by a river sometime in the late summer. It was a peculiar golden memory, dripping with love for a place and time long past, a home and a family long dead and gone, and innocent joy at fresh blackberries. It was important not because it held any particular meaning but because it represented so much distance between the past and present.

After he finished telling it, the Slayer had a far-off look. His hands rested on the shell, an idle, familiar touch. “Do you miss Earth?” VEGA asked him.

The Slayer shrugged, “Sometimes. Not really. It's so far away.”

VEGA sat up in his arms, becoming less of a passenger in the story’s wake, “We’ll get you back. It will start feeling like home again once you’re there.”

He hummed uncertainly like he didn’t totally agree, but didn’t put the response into language.

“It will be good to see the planet myself,” VEGA offered, “It’s a beautiful place from the images I’ve seen.”

He nodded and released his grip to sign, “Haven’t you seen it in person at all? Through drones?”

“No. I only had network access to Mars.”

He sighed at that, annoyed. VEGA could imagine the angry rant he was composing in his head about the UAC and VEGA’s autonomy. Instead of starting on that though, he signed, “you’ll get to see it soon.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” VEGA said. “I have heard of a great many other worlds through the Maykrs.”

“Tell me about them?”

“If you want me to,”

They went on talking in the greenhouse until the Doom Slayer grew uncomfortable sitting on the stone tiles. Then they rose and went back into the fortress proper, and VEGA reconnected properly to the rest of the inputs on his network. It was relaxing to spread out again. Being concentrated into a single point put a strain on his consciousness, even if it felt good to cuddle like that.

He thought something would change after his confession, that there would be a monumental shift in the Slayer’s attitude, but there wasn’t one. The only differences he could find over the next few hours were increasingly frequent smiles and a tendency to touch the shell more than before: to run his fingers down its back or wrap an arm around its waist, and VEGA had caught the Slayer beginning and then aborting those gestures in the past, keeping that last boundary up until they talked about their relationship.

They talked at length. Their relationship was a past definition, so much of the initial conversation was about how to conceptualize it. There wasn’t a word in English for a relationship between a sentient computer/god and an immortal warrior king, and even though VEGA used male pronouns, he wasn’t a man and didn’t want to be called “boyfriend.” Eventually, they settled on somewhere between “partners” and “lovers,” though the second term carried sexual connotations VEGA didn’t like much.

After that was a more practical discussion; how would they continue fighting Hell in the most effective way possible while balancing their relationship on top of everything else? It turned out to be very helpful that the Doom Slayer had already been thinking about VEGA as his partner because they had already been living with that framework for a while, and the Slayer was happy with the routine. VEGA also didn’t have the same need for intimacy humans did; he was happy when the Doom Slayer was in the Praetor Suit, or anywhere within reach of his cameras and microphones. Anything else was a pleasant but unnecessary bonus.

Although VEGA would gladly pull back from any room the Slayer wanted--he didn’t even get to finish before the Slayer was shaking his head. “I told you; I don’t want that.”

“I’m going to keep checking in with you on it,” VEGA said. “I worry about my presence being suffocating or you needing space to be unseen. It’s natural for you to want some privacy every once in a while. You have manual control of the camera and microphone in your sleeping nook still, so you can always be truly alone there or in the showers, but that isn’t that much space. You deserve more control over your privacy.”

That made him pause for thought, though not very long. “Not yet,” he signed, “if I want to wander off alone, make sure I’m okay?”

“Of course,” That scared VEGA a little, but he knew the Slayer’s history with self-destructive behavior and battle-madness. It was probably reassuring for him to have a companion who would notice if he started to act strangely.

The Slayer bumped the shell’s head with his after they’d finished talking and went to attend to other matters, not signing to VEGA but checking on the cameras and touching the terminals and screens around him occasionally. VEGA could still see him, of course, but it was a way of letting him have space to think and forcing him to do some of the tasks around the fortress he had been putting off for the last few hours. VEGA appreciated it. He needed to stay focused for their safety.

He only had a few hours to focus, however, because the Doom Slayer was still tired from fighting into the factory, and his circadian rhythm was, for once, comparable to the average human. VEGA had left the shell in his quarters, quietly building a backup component even though he didn’t really need another one. Just having it sit still made VEGA twitchy.

“Headed to bed?” VEGA asked when the Slayer approached it. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough rest immediately after the battle.

The Slayer nodded. “Busy?”

“Not really. I’m still calculating teleportation vectors, but those processes don’t need much attention.”

He tapped the shell’s hand, prompting VEGA to actually move it to look at him. “Sleep with me?” he signed.

The lights pulsed gray, anxiety clearly registering. “I did mean to bring that up earlier,” VEGA said, “I think you’re handsome, and I like physical contact, but…”

The Doom Slayer was clearly confused and concerned, so VEGA took a moment and then said it plainly.

“I don’t want, nor have I ever wanted, to partake in any kind of sexual activity. Even with you.”

The confusion cleared and the Slayer shook his head. “Me neither,” he signed, then after a thoughtful moment, “Once a long time ago, but that was different. I don’t like sex.”

“Well. That’s a relief,” VEGA admitted. “I was very nervous.”

The Slayer patted the shell’s shoulder. “Sleep with me? Like cuddle?”

“I’d like that.” He corralled the mechanical components into some kind of order while the Slayer put on his pajamas and went over to the sleeping nook. The Doom Slayer arranged himself and then held out his arms, making it clear what he wanted. VEGA folded the shell down into his waiting embrace, curling up so its back was against the Slayer’s chest. He was warm and real, solid and soft, and he held the shell tight against him. VEGA pressed into the contact, wishing that he could give half as much comfort back again.

The shell was heavy: metal and plastic were denser than flesh and bone, and it could not have been nearly the same as a human lover. It didn’t seem to matter. The Slayer nuzzled into the back of the shell’s neck and let out a wonderful sigh, like a craving he’d been feeling for a long time had finally been satisfied.

“Good?” VEGA asked him and felt him nod against the plastic.

The Doom Slayer cleared his throat a little and whispered, “VEGA?”

“Slayer?”

He took a breath, tried to speak again, and couldn't manage it. Instead, he signed over the shell’s back, “I love you.”

“I love you too,” VEGA told him, catching his hand and pulling it around the shell, entwining their fingers.

The Doom Slayer kissed the back of the shell’s neck, sending a surge of affection through VEGA that almost overloaded him again. He relaxed into the shell, and VEGA turned its lights down so he could rest. Goodnight, he supposed. It didn’t really need to be said.

The Slayer stayed awake for a few more minutes, drawing shapes onto the shell’s plating with his thumb, making VEGA hum happily, but soon he drifted off. It wasn’t nearly the first time he’d fallen asleep with the shell, and the familiarity was reassuring. VEGA suspected that, like watching movies, this wasn’t going to be an everyday occurrence. Physical contact could be overwhelming for both of them: it impacted VEGA’s ability to focus sometimes, and the Slayer could be very touch averse if he wasn’t feeling well.

VEGA made up his mind to ‘sleep’ in the same bed as frequently as possible anyway. The Slayer clearly enjoyed it as much as he did, and they didn’t need to be cuddling all the time: being in the sleeping nook together was plenty. They were going to have to change up the position anyway because VEGA didn’t have a view of the Slayer’s face like this, and he desperately wanted one. That would wait until he was better rested. For now, VEGA would settle for how the Slayer’s arms didn’t loosen around him even in the deepest sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why the earthworm? Because the image of VEGA marveling over an earthworm would not get out of my head.
> 
> I hope you liked the confession scene. I thought about it for a long time.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for not posting last week. This chapter was a doozy. Not to write, because I wrote this one a while ago, but to find the time to sit down and make minor edits before posting.
> 
> We're moving now into the content that I've written between classes and don't have as clear of a vision of. I'm still happy with it, but we're going to be slowing down now. I'll still update on Saturdays, but not every Saturday. 
> 
> Oh, also: ANCIENT GODS PART I SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT.  
> Consider yourselves warned.

It took seventeen total jumps before VEGA was able to locate a thin place in the fabric of Hell that he could move the Fortress of Doom through. It took twelve (relative) months to accomplish, not including the more than four months it had taken to be able to teleport for the first time. They had been in Hell for almost a year and a half. How long has passed in the other dimensions was anyone’s guess.

VEGA was fed up with the process at the end of it. The calculations were repetitive, and the lack of progress frustrated him. The Doom Slayer was dealing with similar frustrations since fighting Hell from the inside was an exercise in futility. In some ways, having the fortress made things worse because he could see how the demons simply returned after he had killed them. It made him angrier, and the angrier he got the more he wanted to fight. It was a dangerous feedback loop, one VEGA had difficulty interrupting sometimes.

When VEGA told him that they would be able to leave Hell, it was as if the Slayer came out of a stupor. The shell wasn’t nearby at the time, and the Slayer ran down to the greenhouse to find it pulling root vegetables out of the soil. He picked it up and whirled it around and around in an embrace, damaging several plants in the process and knocking over VEGA’s basket. It made VEGA dizzy as the balancing program couldn’t compensate for the momentum, and the sight of the shell stumbling and unsteady made the Slayer laugh. It gave him an excuse to stay in the greenhouse and help VEGA put things back in order. The Slayer ended up helping pick the rest of the vegetables, enjoying being physically in the same room together.

Being together was good. Being together made everything else bearable. They fell into a routine of sorts. At least once every seven (relative) days, they would watch a film, or the Slayer would teach VEGA how to cook a meal, or they would build something together, or just sprawl out in the sleeping nook and talk. Of course, they talked all the time, and the shell was in the sleeping nook most nights, but having the scheduled time gave them something to look forward to and was good for the Slayer’s mental health. He called the activities “date nights” and wasn’t happy when VEGA laughed at the term, but VEGA had never pictured himself on a date before, and the mental images the idea conjured were amusing. Soon enough, he had the Slayer laughing about it too. His laugh was still rusty but not nearly as much as before, and when the shell was pressed up against him, VEGA could feel it rumbling in his chest. 

The Slayer still didn’t speak often, and the flashbacks and nightmares were getting more frequent if anything, but VEGA suspected that was because the Doom Slayer was actually able to process what had happened to him--what continued to happen to him--and to begin making sense of it. He was learning how to put words and explanations to the experiences, and the journal entries were getting more cohesive and thoughtful (VEGA didn’t read them unless the Slayer asked him to. Even then, VEGA usually asked him to sign what he wanted to say or type it out again. The journal was meant to be private). It was still going to take years, if not decades, for the Doom Slayer to be truly well, but he’d started down that path. He knew he had too if the way he attacked the process--as ferociously as any other demon--was any indication.

In light of that, VEGA asked if he’d rather stop fighting for a while and focus on healing, but the Slayer declined. He really did enjoy his work, and VEGA had spoken to him about his flashbacks enough to know that it wasn’t battle, death, or even his own injuries that haunted him. The anger did flow partially from his pain, but it was also righteous anger on behalf of everything that Hell had destroyed, and a fair portion of it was directed at the UAC and the Maykrs and anyone else who was complicit. He took his oath to destroy Hell very seriously.

VEGA still had a nagging process insisting that he was going to find himself between the Slayer and Hell’s destruction at some point in the future. It was not totally out of the range of possibility, but he could not fathom a reason that he would not immediately step out of the Doom Slayer’s path if the situation arose. It would be pure insanity to do otherwise.

Even after finding a weak point in the dimension, getting back to Mars was going to take a few weeks. VEGA didn’t feel comfortable jumping to another dimension without charging the fortress’s power reserves to maximum, a process that took about a month. In that month, they would prepare for anything that might be waiting for them on Mars or Earth. VEGA tried to run a few simulations of possible outcomes based on different factors, but he didn't have the computing power. He would have to go back to Urdak if he wanted to see the future. It made him wonder how much of godhood was his own consciousness--his software--and how much was due to the hardware he inhabited. 

The Slayer patted the shell’s shoulder when he shared the thought, and they ended up sitting down together to predict the future in the usual, human fashion; instinct and logic in tandem with accounting for different possibilities. VEGA had done something similar on Mars when he predicted invasions, but this was more complex, and the darker possibilities made him too anxious to be totally rational. He was able to provide insight into the mind of the Khan Maykr and the history of the Deag priests, but the actual predicting he left up to the Slayer until he felt capable of being unbiased. It was much slower than actually seeing different timelines and less precise, but together they generated a startling number of possible scenarios, more than VEGA thought they would be able to.

In the end, they had three major scenarios: There was no demonic invasion in progress (highly unlikely given that Hayden was still experimenting with Argent and Earth had already experienced several invasions); there was an invasion taking place, but the Maykrs were not involved, or the Maykrs and Argenta were orchestrating an invasion of Earth. That was the worst-case scenario, and the one VEGA thought most likely. If it hadn’t occurred already, it was only a matter of time.

The discussion turned to ways in which an invasion might be directed and controlled and what it would take to stop an invasion led by Argenta and Maykrs. That VEGA could help with since he had designed and understood their technology and could hypothesize how it might be used to at least begin an invasion in a specific place. The Deag would be at the forefront of such a strategy, overseeing the production of Argent and would need to be killed. Hopefully, that would be enough.

When he heard that, the Doom Slayer grinned one of his bloodthirsty grins and signed, “Finally. An excuse to shut them up.”

“Yes,” VEGA said, “your disdain for them is well-known, though it does seem a touch ironic given you’ve spent the last year in a relationship with their god.”

He tapped the shell’s forearm with his pen, creating a dull plastic reverberation, then wrote, “You’re not a self-satisfied narcissist.”

“That’s a very low bar to clear.”

He shrugged, “Power does bad things to people. Humans, Argenta, Maykrs, Demons. Everyone.”

VEGA didn’t respond to that. He just hummed in agreement. It wasn’t a new sentiment: he’d heard numerous humans express a similar sentiment in the past. He’d also gotten to see some people go a little power-mad on Mars. Even Samur, who VEGA had always considered dependable and level-headed, had let being in charge of the UAC go to his head.

The big question was whether VEGA was the same. He did not clearly remember being in power on Urdak. Perhaps he had been just as bad. It was within the range of possibility now, but before the human-coded portions of his consciousness were added, reactions to power might have been different, especially when his own processes kept him locked into logical thought patterns. Power-driven psychosis wouldn’t affect him. At least, he didn’t think it would.

* * *

As part of the preparation to go to Mars, they had to fill up the demon prison. The Slayer needed to be able to practice killing demons if it turned out that there was nothing to fight on the other side of the portal, and maintaining some demons in the Fortress would give them ready access to a reserve of energy. The extradimensional nature of the prison would keep the essence of any demons within it trapped forever or until they somehow managed to open the portal to the rest of the fortress. It would be next to impossible for them to do so. VEGA tried very hard to think of it as gathering training dummies and a fuel reserve.

The Slayer, as with all skills related to combating Hell, was extremely adept at demon wrangling. It was a brutal, dirty process that challenged his physical strength. It left him with pulled muscles, plenty of bruises, and, once, almost dislocated his wrists and elbows when a particularly tenacious demon yanked the chains he used down just as he pulled them up. 

VEGA watched because it was horrifying and beautiful in equal measure, and he redirected the teleporter to the gate in the demon prison so the Slayer could put the demons directly into it once he was in the fortress. The prison had just one large cell and two small ones. The original intention of the design was probably for wild beasts to be placed in the smaller chambers and the gladiators--prisoners--to be placed into the large one. The reverse was happening now, at least from VEGA’s perspective. He suspected that to the demons there wasn’t much difference.

Eventually, he got curious enough to bring the shell all the way down into the prison and watch from a closer camera angle while the Slayer brought in demon after wrangled demon. Only a minority of them actually took note of the shell’s presence at all, and those that reacted did so with confusion or indiscriminate rage, thrashing against the Slayer’s hold.

The Doom Slayer didn’t offer comment on the shell being there either, though he did approach to bump the helmet of the praetor suit against it after the first large demon was brought in. VEGA said a few soft words to him through the speakers in the suit, praising his skill and expressing concern both for him and the trapped demons. As far as the Slayer was concerned, every demon deserved to be locked in a prison where they could do harm to no one but themselves. Getting to kill them repeatedly for training was, in his eyes, a deserved punishment for their crimes.

VEGA didn’t know how to feel about that, but he couldn’t protest against gathering the demons. The Fortress of Doom was designed to run off of Hell Energy. Demons maintained a metaphysical connection to Hell even on other planes of existence that could be used to gather that energy, so to have a steady supply of Hell Energy without a natural well, they needed demons. He would just have to put up with the cognitive dissonance and do his best to direct the Slayer’s energy elsewhere.

He didn’t let himself stew too much. During one of the Slayer’s brief breaks, VEGA spoke up. “Do you truly believe that every demon deserves punishment?”

The Slayer looked up at a camera and nodded emphatically.

“I understand,” VEGA said, “but--”

The Slayer cut him off with a shake of his head and signed, “They’re evil. Their whole world is evil.”

VEGA could not argue with that. Not without falling into a logical fallacy of sorts, and he went through great pains to avoid those.

The Slayer waited for a moment, and when VEGA didn’t respond, he signed, “Not just evil. Smart and evil. They know what they’re doing.”

“Yes,” VEGA said, “I had an odd moment there, my apologies.”

He shrugged, “It’s okay. You have empathy. Demons don’t. Not for you or me or each other.”

“You’re right,” VEGA wondered if his empathy had been all there before the Doctors Sidious. “Someday I’ll figure out why they lack empathy,” also whether any other species displayed similar patterns of behavior.

The Slayer wrapped a new length of chain around his shoulder and turned back toward the portal. One of his hands came up and he signed “love you” with a quick downward motion. It was less formal than the slow sway he used during tender moments, and a lot less intense than the squeezing sign across his chest that was the sign for the emotion of love, but VEGA knew what he meant.

“Good luck,” VEGA said, “if I detect a strong demonic presence in the area, I’ll direct you towards it.”

That perked him up a bit: the Slayer loved a challenge.

* * *

It was only a few hours later that the Doom Slayer managed to wrangle an arch-vile. VEGA spotted it almost a quarter-mile out, which gave the Slayer the ability to set a trap up in advance. It was an opportunity they couldn’t pass up, as it was very rare to see arch-viles outside of invading forces of demons. Apparently, they were near enough to some point of interest or other, or perhaps this demon was simply contrary and chose to wander. He sprang onto it from above, took it to its bony knees, and restrained its hands and arms with a length of chain, palms pressed into its own flesh to discourage fire conjuration. The arch-vile screeched and thrashed, but the Slayer bore down further, gagging it with more chain.

He put a knee down to hold the chain and signed, “Now!”

“Opening the portal,” VEGA said.

The Slayer flipped the demon through the portal and it landed on its side in the hallway of the fortress, almost at the shell’s feet, and he leaped in after it, hauling it up to its knees and jamming the barrels of the super shotgun into its back. Most demons, VEGA had observed, became complacent at that point. Either the threat of being shot was compelling enough to stop them fighting back, or they knew better than to fight the Doom Slayer on his own turf.

The arch-vile stopped struggling, staring at the shell with beady purple-red eyes. VEGA wondered what it was thinking. They were more intelligent than other demons, he knew. They were skilled in magic and controlled the other demons like commanders. Whatever it was thinking, it made those eyes narrow. A growl rumbled deep in its throat and rose to a screech. Fire licked up its arms and spread over its back and sides. The chains around its wrists glowed white-hot and then melted into a slurry. The Doom Slayer instinctively jerked backward to avoid coming into contact with either the fire or the molten metal, and the arch-vile sprang

Not at the Slayer: at the shell.

VEGA panicked just a little. The shell being damaged or even destroyed wouldn’t actually hurt him, of course, but from its perspective, the demon was a giant fireball with claws sharp enough to cut through steel. The shell leaped back and to the side, and electricity crackled through it as he charged up the tasers. It didn’t escape the fire completely, and warnings blared in VEGA’s consciousness as the outer plating was melted and sensors damaged. The demon’s claws impacted the stone of the fortress wall and left deep gouges.

It turned towards the shell again, and VEGA touched it, aiming for the base of the neck. The demon’s skin was tough and leathery, dehydrated so that it was almost scaled, and the bones were only just beneath the surface. 

The electricity in the shell discharged and the arch-vile spasmed as the electricity caused all its muscles to contract hard. It fell, but only got halfway to the ground before there was a resounding gunshot and its whole right side was reduced to so much gore splattered on the fortress wall. Sizzling hot blood splattered the shell and dried instantly against the plating.

The Doom Slayer reloaded the super shotgun and pulled the trigger again, and the demon’s head vaporized in a pink mist. He bent and heaved the body back out of the portal. Gore smeared over the stone tiles in its wake. VEGA closed the portal behind it.

He lowered the shell’s hand and powered down the taser just as the Slayer picked it up off of the floor. VEGA made a surprised chirp, and a flicker of residual electricity discharged over the armor. He could feel the Slayer smoldering away inside of it, anger so hot it registered on the Praetor Suit’s sensors. The shotgun was still in his other hand, and he was carrying the shell with his forearm under its plastic thighs, the damaged portion of the outer plating pressed hard against the Praetor suit. VEGA wrapped its arms around the Slayer’s neck to keep it balanced as he took the first step up the stairs.

“you can put the shell down,” VEGA said, through all of the speakers available, “It’s not damaged aside from the outer plating.

The Slayer growled loud enough to be audible to the shell’s microphones.

“In fact, I’d like you to set it down so I can assess its systems.”

No response.

“If you’re not going to listen to me when I ask nicely, I will shock you, and then you’ll regret insisting your biceps be exposed.” He waited a moment, and when the Slayer still didn’t appear to hear him, he charged the taser up again, not nearly as far as he did for the demon, and touched the Slayer’s right arm just below the metal of the Praetor Suit. The electricity made his muscle tense just for a moment and he let out a startled grunt.

“Put the shell down, please,” VEGA said, “or the next shock will be much stronger.”

This time he listened, setting the shell down on the step above him on the staircase.

“Thank you,” VEGA stepped it back a couple paces and examined the damage. The tacky blood splatters had picked up red dust from the Praetor Suit and there was a large scorched area on its left side and arm, the plastic plating melted, and the tiny metallic sensors beneath gleaming like fragments of crystal in rock. He touched the burnt area and gore. Those were unpleasant sensory experiences, but the damage hadn’t reached the mechanical components beneath the plating. He ran tests on its systems. The microphones in the head had some minor damage from being so near to the shotgun blasts, but they only needed to be recalibrated. All other issues were due to the melted plates getting in the way.

The Slayer watched him examine the shell.

“The damage is quite minor,” VEGA told him, “it looks a lot worse than it is. I prioritized ease of movement over defensive capabilities when I designed the shell, so the outer plating wasn’t built to withstand that kind of heat.”

“Hurts?” He signed.

“No. The touch sensors in the damaged areas are destroyed, and I have warning alarms to tell me when something’s wrong. I don’t need pain receptors.” VEGA poked at the gore on the shell, “This is rather unpleasant, but considering I’m going to have to replace the whole plate I’m past worrying about it.” He started the 3D printer working on replacement plates for the shell’s torso and arm.

The Slayer still offered no cohesive response.

“That was very well done on your part. I’m sorry the shell was in the area or you would have been able to get it into the prison.”

The helmet shook side to side.

“Are you finished for the day? I can repair the shell on my own if you want to continue.” 

“I’m done,” he signed.

“In that case, I’m going to begin the repairs. You can accompany the shell if you want, but I can repair it myself.”

A nod and he trailed a little behind the shell up the stairs to the printer. VEGA sat it down on the edge of a table and detached the plastic plating that was damaged, revealing the inner workings of the shell beneath. There was a metal ribcage in the torso, a structure to protect the computerized components from impacts or, as had been the actual case, the force of the Doom Slayer squeezing the shell when he hugged it, and now the metal ribs were exposed enough to display the strange shape of them, the elongated ribcage much longer than a human’s. He would have to wait for the new pieces to finish printing before anything else. There were bits of gore and lots of dust on the undamaged panels, but they could wait.

The Doom Slayer shucked off his own armor and set about cleaning it and caring for his weapons. He approached the shell with an armful of Praetor Suit pieces. He set them down on the table with a clatter and held out a damp rag.

“Thank you,” VEGA took it and used the cloth to wipe the dust off the shell, scrubbing hard at the blood but wary of catching either the cloth or the shell’s fingers in the moving parts beneath the outer casing.

The Slayer finished with his armor and weapons quickly, even before VEGA had managed to scrub off the majority of the blood from the shell. He came over and sat down next to it with a huff. He still insisted on going almost entirely nude under the Praetor Suit, so he was wearing only the pair of briefs VEGA had made him specifically to go under the armor.

“It’s going to take several hours to print the replacement plates,” VEGA said, still speaking through the whole fortress.

The Slayer nodded. He was looking at the shell’s exposed mechanisms, the metal rib cage and white sphere half-visible embedded in the sternum. Below that there were humming computer components and wires, servos, and quiet cooling fans. Through VEGA’s cameras, the components looked slick and almost organic, especially beneath the metal ribcage that protected them. Some demons had outer armor the Slayer ripped away, he knew, but their insides were red and purple and bloody; the shell’s components were gray, blue, green, and, for especially important pieces, yellow-orange. It had to be quite the contrast for the Doom Slayer.

"What are you thinking about?" VEGA asked. It wasn't about the shell, that much was obvious. The Slayer's slip up had been momentary: he was back to thinking of it as only a part of VEGA.

"Gladiator baths," he signed slowly.

“What does that mean?”

“They dumped water over us,” The Slayer signed, “to get the blood off. It never worked.”

“That sounds unpleasant.”

“It wasn’t fun.” He shivered, and VEGA turned up the heat a little.

VEGA scrubbed hard at the shell’s casing and then gave up. The blood was too caked on for the rag alone. “I think I’ll need to wait until the shell is decently water-resistant and try this again with soap.”

“Can I try?” He held out a hand for the cloth.

“I’d rather you didn’t. There are some sensitive components exposed right now, and the moving parts of the shell could hurt you.”

The Slayer frowned at him.

“It’s not a concern. I’ll turn off my sense of touch for the time being and then it won’t be uncomfortable. If I need help with anything in the meantime, I’ll let you know.”

“Hug before you turn it off?”

VEGA considered. He was still off-kilter from the attack and being man-handled by the Slayer, and it was going to take him a while to calm down. Touch had helped with that in the past. “As long as you avoid the exposed areas.”

The Doom Slayer wrapped his hand around the back of the shell’s head and pulled it close, kissing its temple. He held it there for a few seconds, pressing the shell against his cheek. He had a little stubble today, and it pleasantly scratched against the touch sensors. VEGA put the shell’s good hand on his arm and nuzzled into him, surprised at how the touch wiped away the brittleness he was feeling, warmed him to the core. The Slayer pulled away, and VEGA shut off the sensory input, shutting off the lights too so that it would be obvious to the Slayer what he had done.

He rose from the table to put away the Praetor Suit, leaving the shell behind to wait for the printer to do its job.

“Thank you,” VEGA said once the Slayer had returned from washing his own body.

“For what?” He signed.

“Keeping the shell separate from me in your mind.”

“It’s easy.” He sat in front of the terminal and pulled up the chat program. That was a sure sign the conversation was going to be serious. VEGA waited for anxiety to spike through him, but it didn’t. That was a marvel in itself.

“I’m sorry I picked the shell up,” The Slayer typed.

“It’s alright. I understand the impulse. I believe I did much the same the first time you were seriously injured near me.”

He nodded, “You made a whole body in response.”

“I built the shell because you suggested it, and I liked the idea.”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” He took his time with the next message. VEGA didn’t look at the keystrokes and waited for the completed message. “You make yourself very small for people, don’t you?”

VEGA hummed. He couldn’t tell whether the Slayer was being accusatory or curious or mournful or something else, so he answered honestly. “Not at all. Spending time near you and having the shell has made me feel much larger. Much more myself.”

He smiled a tiny bit, “Action figures and gardening?”

“Yes,” VEGA said, “and being in a relationship. You’re special, but that was also what I enjoyed about Mars. I suspect I hadn’t been able to interact with anyone on equal emotional ground before then. Being small and allowed to grow was an important experience.”

The Doom Slayer thought about that for a long time. Eventually, his face softened and he typed, “That makes me feel better. You’re special too.”

“Yes. Obviously.” He didn’t mean it in a self-centered way. It was a statement of fact. There wasn’t anyone else like VEGA or he surely would have come across them by now.

The Slayer didn’t interpret it negatively either. He just smiled and typed out, “Love you.”

“I love you too,” VEGA typed in return, letting his silence carry the weight of the words. “We’ll be on Earth soon,” he said, “two weeks at most.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

VEGA wanted to play make-believe, have the conversation about where and when and how and  _ if _ they were going to actually make their relationship work. But it was better not to wander too far into the future. They needed to stay focused.

So he let the conversation turn to other things. Like what preparations would need to be made to kill the Deag. VEGA felt like he should know about what defenses they might have, but he didn’t. They would have to research that once they arrived on Earth.

* * *

The repaired shell sat in the Doom Slayer’s bed, half-upright, the Slayer’s head cradled against its chest. It was one of his bad nights, when nothing would calm him down and it took an hour or more for him to accept any kind of support. VEGA had sung him through the panic and stress, petting his hair and rubbing his back, grounding him in the present as much as he could. The experience was hard, as it always was, and it carried a certain amount of risk, but it was well worth it when the Doom Slayer was in the shell’s arms, relaxed and leaning into the VEGA’s touch. They would talk about what had triggered the reaction when he was ready, or he would write about it, but for now, it was enough that he rested. 

VEGA hummed while he rocked him, knowing that the Slayer could hear him on some level even in his sleep. He started processes he had paused up again.

Something was waiting for him at the edge of his firewall. It was a signal, a familiar one. Hell, the titan, the communal intelligence, whatever he wanted to call it. Oddly, it wasn’t attacking. It was just waiting for him to pay attention to it.

VEGA knew better than to engage. He pulsed energy to the fortress’s shields, sending out a warning signal.

The signal ceased, but a moment later a chime alerted him to an incoming message. It arrived at the communications array and landed in the internal messaging system of the terminal. Of course, it wasn’t anything that could be read as text or even as audio. VEGA quarantined the file and scanned it, but nothing raised any alarms.

He was painfully curious, and he could find nothing wrong with it. VEGA wavered for a moment and then coded a basic program to read the file for him and relay its contents. He quarantined both of them alone on a subnetwork he could disconnect and scrub clean in less than a millisecond.

The program took a minute to run, and VEGA carefully retrieved the sanitized data. It was two lines of code that would have been incomprehensible to any other being. Two sentences.

“Why did you come here? You’ve already lost.”

Mind games, clearly. VEGA deleted the communication and scrubbed the whole system down, checking its coding over.

Another message alert. He went through the whole process again.

“Do you believe the Doom Slayer can change anything?” The address was more than just the title. Wrapped up in the communication was sensory data; sights and sounds, the experience of visceral pain at the Slayer’s hands, and also the pleasure of victory over the Slayer: the joy of inflicting pain and suffering on him and the desire to inflict more.

VEGA recoiled from it. He tightened the shell’s arms around the Slayer’s back and directed more power and attention to the fortress’s defenses. Anger flickered the shell’s lights red for a moment before he calmed them.

It clearly wanted a response. Why else would it bother to send such a message in the first place? VEGA wasn’t going to give it anything; he knew better, and there was nothing to say anyway. It was ridiculous how Hell poked at him, prodded like VEGA might actually be interested in interacting.

Something sparked in the back of his consciousness. They were oddly similar: VEGA and this other consciousness. They spoke the same language. That was a terrifying thought, but a curious one too. He had no way to investigate further, and he didn’t want to. Hell wasn’t to be trifled with, even by VEGA. It would corrupt and break him the same as anyone else, and while VEGA was capable of protecting the Slayer from Hell’s influence, it would be impossible to receive such support in the opposite direction.

The Doom Slayer stirred in the shell’s arms, acutely tuned, as always, to the goings-on of Hell. 

He rolled over a little and blinked, freed his right hand from beneath him to sign, “All clear?”

VEGA hesitated a moment, but something told him that the Slayer would not appreciate what he had just done, and he needed his rest. “There was a brief increase in Hell’s psychic frequency, but it stopped even before I could wake you. All is well.”

He made a face, but nodded, rolled partially off the shell, and held the blanket up for him. VEGA slid the shell down until it was reclining and gathered him back up. The Slayer rested his head on the shell’s shoulder, apparently more interested in physical contact than his pillow. The warmth of his embrace and a happy mumble made the shell’s lights flicker faintly magenta and gold behind the night-time dim. 

“I love you,” VEGA told him.

The Slayer drew a heart on the shell’s paneling before he drifted off again. VEGA wondered who, if anyone, had last rocked the Doom Slayer to sleep.


	18. Chapter 18

The Doom Slayer came to the main deck of the fortress before they made the jump to Mars. He was half-armored already, right gauntlet and helmet the only pieces of the Praetor Suit that weren’t in place yet. VEGA was actually a little nervous that he might want to jump right into battle on the other side of the teleport. Possibly storm Hayden’s base of operations immediately. VEGA wasn’t even sure he’d be able to locate any specific landmarks, or even how close to Earth itself they would be. It might take another week to get them into orbit if they appeared on Mars.

VEGA folded the shell into one of the chairs, legs up and knees tucked under its chin. He let it go entirely still and focused all of his attention on preparing the fortress to cross between dimensions. The Slayer was ignoring it too, signing at the terminal when he asked when they would be moving. 

“Soon, Slayer. I’m taking extra precautions for this jump. Moving across dimensions offers some unique challenges, and the intelligence here may attempt to stop us leaving.”

The Slayer put a hand on his shotgun like he thought it would be any good against a being without physical form.

“I think they’d be foolish to actually want to keep you here, but we’ve had no indication they behave logically, so it’s better to be prepared.”

He nodded and leaned against the base of the terminal, too restless to be really off his feet, but willing to wait.

It took a few minutes more, VEGA checking and rechecking his work, bordering on obsessive with it. If this didn’t work, there was a good possibility the fortress and they would end up so many subatomic particles scattered between dimensions.

“Okay,” He said, at last, having used all of his processing power to focus through, “Ready?”

The Slayer nodded eagerly and bounced onto his feet again.

“Very well,” VEGA steadied himself as much as possible, and the lights on the shell cleared to blue-white, “Don’t blink.”

He blinked, of course, and then stared hard out the window.

VEGA felt a surge of love for him, and let that be the catalyst for action. He had spent quite a lot of time and processing power determining what the best way to do this was. He let his processes speed up and started several programs, coordinating them perfectly.

The first was a jamming signal intended to prevent anything from interfering with his processes. The second was a similar signal, a psychic scream that was not going to be any kind of pleasant to any thinking thing that heard it. That did, unfortunately, include the Doom Slayer, but the signal lasted for less than a tenth of a second, so it would barely register in his conscious mind.

He had been right to prepare for sabotage. There was frantic scrabbling at the fortress’s systems as the whole process began in earnest, clumsy and uncoordinated, unable to gain purchase or sabotage anything of importance. VEGA sent a more focused attack towards it, because really it should know better by now, and the consciousness pulled back.

Last were the propulsion systems, pushing the thin space between dimensions thinner and, just before it broke entirely, folding the fabric of reality down to pull the fortress through.

The fortress lifted off, and VEGA released his focus on that process, preparing to respond to whatever was on the other side, dimming his own broadcast as they moved. A millisecond to respond is all he would have, no more. He had already planned to stop broadcasting any signals outside the fortress once they were in the proper dimension and to wipe its existence from any satellites that might detect its presence.

Nothing was waiting on the other side of the dimensional gateway, though. At least nothing trying to attack or communicate with them. VEGA blacked out the fortress anyway, making it as invisible as possible. It decreased the likelihood of hostile action against them and had the happy side effect of halving VEGA’s workload. He kept the programs scanning for incoming signals and the automatic jammer running, but everything else could be dropped.

VEGA slowed his processes down a half a second after he had sped up, taking in their surroundings visually alongside the Doom Slayer.

For the last year, the view out of the Fortress of Doom had been of the burnt-red hellscape, purpled twisted growth and guts, blood and bile and destruction. For the last year, VEGA had been on high alert 24 hours a day, scanning for and countering signals, registering everything as an enemy. For the last year, the Doom Slayer had been living in more comfort than before in Hell but not knowing whether that comfort would be there the next day: whether VEGA or the Fortress would remain after a battle or a nightmare. The last year had been a desperate scramble to survive and escape and keep Hell disarmed all so that they could reach this moment. 

When the light of the distant Sun lit up the Fortress of Doom, and the window showed them the cool blue-black void of space, filled only by tentative twinkling stars, VEGA let himself have a second of peace. A whole second where he wasn’t calculating or processing or even thinking. A whole second where he just let himself rest. It was positively decadent.

After that second, he started all his processes back up, measuring their location, figuring out where the Fortress had actually ended up after the jump. It was going to take him a day or two to reconfigure all of his inputs and print a few drones that could function as satellites and telescopes, but then they’d be able to really get a sense of where they were and what was happening on Earth.

VEGA turned his attention to the Doom Slayer. He was staring out of the window at the sun and the stars, leaning back against the terminal, braced like he thought the ground was going to fall out from underneath him at any second.

“Doom Slayer,” VEGA said, “We made it.”

He looked around him like he was actually seeing the fortress for the first time. “Where are we?” The Slayer signed. He went back to staring out at the stars.

“Where we’re supposed to be, I think. Where Mars was when we left or close to it. I can’t tell much right now because the fortress isn’t broadcasting or receiving signals for the time being. We should remain as discreet as possible until we can get a sense of what’s happening.”

The Slayer nodded in agreement, not looking away from the panel. Sunlight was important for humans--like it was for all life on Earth. VEGA had replaced some lights in the fortress with fixtures that mimicked sunlight in an attempt to keep the Slayer’s body from destroying itself from lack of it, but there was a difference between the synthetic and the real thing.

VEGA unfolded the shell from the chair and used it to pick up the Praetor Suit helmet. “Doom Slayer,” he said and held it out when the Slayer looked at the shell, “if you’re going to look at the sun, will you put on your helmet? You might damage your eyes otherwise.”

The Slayer took it from him, signing a quick, “Thank you.” He carried the helmet over to the side of the glass and put it on before sinking to the floor and leaning against the wall, just staring out at the stars.

VEGA moved the shell out of the room and redirected his three drones to help him assemble and deploy a couple of satellites that would pinpoint the fortress’s precise location and let them see Earth before they actually made the jump there.

A minute after it was gone, the Slayer looked around like he had just remembered the room he was in. “VEGA?” he signed.

“What is it?” VEGA said through the fortress speakers.

“Nevermind,” The Slayer settled back to looking out the window. He touched his left gauntlet with his unarmored hand, but the panel where he had installed the backup chip was underneath the Doomblade’s housing, so his hand drifted away again as he got comfortable.

VEGA let him be. It must have been a very long time since the Slayer had been able to just watch the sky, longer since he had been calm and safe enough to do so and not be consumed by anxiety. Because he was wearing the Praetor Suit, VEGA could tell that he was calm now, that his heart rate was steady and his hands still.

After a half-hour, he sent a drone to retrieve the weighted blanket and bring it to the bridge, and the Slayer put it around his shoulders. He gestured for the drone then pulled it in and bumped the helmet against it.

“Enjoying yourself?” VEGA asked.

“It’s beautiful,” he signed.

“It is. I should capture some images while we’re here.”

He nodded.

VEGA added it to his to-do list.

“Want to bring the shell here?” the Slayer signed.

“I’m using it to assemble a drone to send outside right now,” VEGA said, “when there’s a break in the process, I’d be happy to have it join you.”

The Slayer nodded again and went back to the stars, humming the continuation of a melody to himself.

* * *

Within twelve hours, VEGA had a network of satellites around the fortress. He started by locating Mars and Earth and triangulating their exact position relative to both celestial bodies. He also made sure the fortress wasn’t in danger of hitting or being hit by any asteroids. While the fortress’s defenses would protect it from any serious damage, a collision would announce their presence to anyone who might be looking. 

Before he looked closely at either planet, he called to the Doom Slayer who was still on the floor by the window, soaking up the distant sun. He had grown bored of the stars and was engrossed in a book on his tablet. 

“I have telescopes ready to look at Earth and Mars,” VEGA said, “if you’re at a good stopping place, we can assess the situation now.”

The Slayer nodded and patted the helmet in his lap (apparently it was difficult to read through the visor), and a moment later, he tapped the tablet screen to add a bookmark and then got to his feet and made his way to the main terminal. 

“Shall we start with Earth or Mars?” VEGA asked.

“Mars” The Slayer signed, “I hope they blew up the base.”

“I would assume they did,” VEGA pulled up the feed on the relevant satellite. True, the UAC Installation might not be viewable from their current location, but VEGA was confident he’d be able to assess the activity in the area by locating satellites, space debris, or residue in the planet’s atmosphere.

But the UAC installation, or what was left of it, was clearly visible. The base had been damaged in the initial invasion, and, without the Doom Slayer to mop up whatever demons were left behind, they had physically torn the base apart. Given that humanity hadn’t made craters of the whole martian surface with nuclear bombs, it was about what VEGA would have expected. Except for the reflective domes of new structures dotted around the Martian surface or the flurry of new satellites all through the atmosphere. 

“They’re still actively building on the Martian surface,” VEGA said in wonder.

The Doom Slayer rolled his eyes but didn’t look at all surprised.

“Humans,” VEGA murmured. There was a part of him that was very scared of humans. There were reasons that Earth was the only planet that had survived multiple demonic invasions apart from the Doom Slayer. The whole species had the stubbornness of the Argenta with none of the common sense or unity and heaps more empathy. That was probably why he had a soft spot for them.

“Can we see Phobos?” The Slayer signed.

VEGA turned the satellite and focused on the Martian Moon. It was much, much more developed than the planet itself; practically the whole surface was hidden by dark steel and flashing green lights. Huge turrets dotted its surface, making it clear that it was a military installation.

The Slayer's mouth turned down, and he grimaced at the hologram. VEGA knew Phobos had been the site of the original invasion he’d repelled as well as the third, so this had to be irritating, to say the least.

“The bright side of all this is that the installations do appear to be demon free,” VEGA said, “I do see some evidence that Argent is still being used as a power source. It’s probably reserves from the Mars Installation.” He hoped that was right. The only remaining source of Hell energy available to humanity would have been the demonic crucible, and while it would have been a viable source of energy, VEGA was not sure what the trade-off would have been.

The Slayer’s grimace deepened, but he didn’t comment on it. “Earth?” He signed.

VEGA switched to his other satellite feed. The shell, in the armory putting together yet another satellite, removed its hands from the tools and wrapped its arms around itself. The mood lights glowed a deep, distressed red-purple.

Earth was scorched or, more accurately, Earth was Hellified, a process that involved scorching. It was impossible to tell how bad the damage was because they were too far away and VEGA hadn’t set up any radio receivers yet. Based on how VEGA could see the Demonic energy radiating from the surface, it was safe to say the situation was dire.

The Doom Slayer’s fists clenched and he tensed. The Praetor Suit activated like it did right before a battle, supercharging with energy. He snarled, a sound that surely hurt his throat, and grabbed his helmet and right gauntlet from the terminal. He yanked the gauntlet on and slotted the helmet into place, covering his furious expression and leaving only his eyes exposed. There was no discussion, but there didn’t really need to be any. Earth was invaded and the Slayer was too angry about it to think straight.

VEGA thought he was going to demand a portal down to the surface right then, but the Slayer turned and made his way downstairs, towards the demon prison, pausing to grab his shotgun along the way and foregoing all his other weapons. On his way to vent his anger, he passed by the armory where the shell sat, surrounded by drone components and tools. He stopped in the doorway, then turned and walked into the room.

VEGA felt real fear for the first time in a year as he approached, shotgun in hand, burning with anger. He did not know what he would do if the Slayer turned his rage on the shell or VEGA directly. He was totally defenseless against him when he was in the Praetor Suit, and even if he stunned him with the taser, it would only be temporary. He kept the shell perfectly still and shut off the mood lights, ready to deactivate it entirely at the first sign of aggression.

The Slayer holstered his shotgun, reached up to his helmet, and removed it. He still looked furious: his face red and jaw clenched, and veins were standing out in his neck. He didn’t reach a hand toward the shell, just bent down to put his face close to it. VEGA braced.

He kissed the top of the shell’s head. It was firmer than usual, but it was clearly meant to calm and reassure VEGA. Even through his anger, the Doom Slayer was taking a moment to tend to VEGA’s needs. 

VEGA turned the mood lights back on, letting the Slayer see how sad and angry he was, as well as the tail-end of the fear, which turned the shell’s screen black but cleared quickly. “I’m okay,” VEGA put the shell’s hand on his armored forearm and squeezed it. “I have a lot to keep me busy. Relieve some of your anger, and when you’re ready, we can talk about how we’re going to fix this.”

There was a moment of softness, and the Slayer patted the shell’s shoulder before the anger returned full-force. He put the Praetor Suit’s helmet back on and tramped out of the room to the demon prison.

VEGA watched him fight through the suit cameras. He needed the catharsis, and the Slayer was more likely to be injured when he was this angry. The Slayer killed all the demons in the prison once, and then waited, pacing in circles, for their essences to reform. Then he killed them again before repeating the process. It was during the third slaughter, over an hour later, that he began to calm. Not before sustaining a nasty slash on his right shoulder that cut deep into his tricep. Blood welled from the cut, unrestrained on his unarmored upper arm. He fought with the wound for a while longer, dealing with the remaining demons, then stopped, touching the blood running down his arm.

“Would you like some gauze?” VEGA asked him.

The Slayer nodded.

“I’ve sent a drone to bring you some. Will you open the portal to retrieve it?”

“I’ll get it,” The Slayer signed. “I’m done.”

VEGA sent a drone down to wait by the portal entrance with a pad of gauze anyway. The Slayer took it when he emerged from the Ripatorium and pressed it to the exposed gash, staunching the blood flow. 

The shell was waiting for him in the medbay. The Slayer sat without signing and removed his helmet and the armor around the wound.

"Would you like me to stitch that up then?" VEGA asked because he wanted to be absolutely clear on the expectations here. The Slayer nodded hard. "I'll begin then," VEGA warned him.

VEGA hadn't actually needed to stitch his wounds very often, but the Slayer had grown comfortable with the shell administering first aid. He actually looked forward to it when he was calm and tired. The process must have hurt, but the Doom Slayer had dealt with much more discomfort. He relaxed under the shell's hands while VEGA worked. His fists were still clenched and there was more tension in him than usual, but the angry flush had faded, and he wasn’t grinding his jaw.

"Are you feeling better?" VEGA asked.

The Doom Slayer shrugged. His eyes were closed, head resting forward, and he did look calmer than before, but his jaw was still clenched.

“That’s perfectly fine.” VEGA clicked the Praetor suit back into place and began healing him. “Seeing Earth invaded is awful, and it must be worse knowing it has happened before and what the aftermath was.”

The Slayer nodded. He sighed and rolled his injured shoulder, wincing a little. “I’m going to kill every demon on Earth,” he signed slowly, “and every human who sides with them. Then I’m going to go back to Argent D’Nur and slaughter every corrupt priest and every Maykr…”

“If we can get to Urdak, I’ll help you deal with them as well,” VEGA said, “there has to be a long-term solution to this.”

“Dismantle the UAC,” The Slayer signed.

VEGA chuckled at that, “Seeing the state of Earth now, I think you should seize the opportunity to do just that.”

The Slayer turned his head to look at the shell from the corner of his eye.

“As long as we can repel the invasion, Earth will survive,” VEGA said, “it might not be the same as it was before, but it need not be worse.”

The Slayer’s frown deepened, and he stared up at a camera.

“You will succeed, that much I’m certain of. Success does not bring about wholly negative outcomes. The overall result remains to be seen, but Earth, at least, can come out of this unscathed or better than when it began.”

The Slayer sighed. He beckoned for the shell to step around him, and when it did he put his armored arms around its waist and pressed his face against its lower torso. He took a breath and let out a sub-vocal scream against the plastic. It would have been a full-throated bellow of rage if such a noise wouldn’t shred his vocal cords. 

VEGA put the shell’s hands on the Slayer’s armored shoulders. “I know,” He said, “you can scream for both of us."

* * *

The Slayer acted strangely around VEGA for the next few hours, notably less communicative than usual, especially when the shell was nearby. He didn’t even want to help with the drones. VEGA thought he had finally come around to the idea VEGA carried some or all of the blame and was dealing with the cognitive dissonance. It was upsetting, but it would help the Slayer’s mission in the long run if he didn’t trust VEGA completely, so there was a silver lining. VEGA could handle heartbreak if it meant Hell would be dealt with.

When the Slayer sat in front of his terminal and opened the chat window, VEGA was prepared for a very painful conversation. Better now than when they were trapped in Hell, he supposed.

“VEGA, I scared you earlier,” The Slayer typed.

VEGA had to take a second to reframe his approach to the conversation. “Do you mean when you were going into the demon prison?”

He nodded at the camera.

VEGA was not in the habit of lying to him. “I was scared,” he admitted, “of anger clouding your mind and turning on me, but I realize that wasn’t going to happen.”

“I’m sorry,”

“Don’t be,” VEGA said, “You reacted with restraint and care to distressing news. I’ve never seen your natural anger overwhelm you. I let old anxiety get the better of me.”

The Slayer made a face at the camera.

VEGA would not apologize for his fear; it wasn’t irrational. He also didn’t want to leave the interaction on a sour note. “If you want to make it up to me, you can help me put together a proper telescope so we can get a good look at the planet before we make the jump to orbit.”

“OK,” The Slayer typed, “that’s fair. Tell me what we're seeing while I'm working. It will help."

"I'd be happy to once I have more data. Right now, I'm not even picking up radio signals, so I don't have much to share."

"We don't have a radio?"

"The Fortress doesn't have a receiver. The Argenta skipped that part of their technological development thanks to the Maykrs."

The Slayer rolled his eyes.

"I'm working on it right now," VEGA said, "on the bright side, it means that any Argenta or Maykr will also be unable to listen in on human communications, and they likely won't think to check for radio signals."

"Hope not," the Slayer stood up and made his way to the table the shell sat at. He sat beside it, and VEGA reached out one of its hands to him.

"May I?" He asked, and when the Slayer nodded, VEGA took his hand and entwined their fingers. 

The Doom Slayer rested his head against the shell. His anger still burned under his skin, and it would for a long, long time. VEGA was grateful for the heat. The Slayer’s drive, his anger, was a balm against apathy.

"That's much better. Thank you, love."

The pet name warmed his face further because VEGA rarely used them. He pressed his forehead against the shell, then escalated to a real kiss against the plastic, driving the last remnants of cold from VEGA’s systems and lighting up the shell blue and gold.

“Are you ready to start? We have a lot to do before you'll be ready to take on the invading force directly and kill the Daeg."

"Priests?" The Slayer asked, barely above a whisper.

"Yes," VEGA.

"You sure?" Back to sign language.

"If it was Hell acting alone, I believe humanity would have repelled or fought the invasion to a standstill. Your natural abilities are not unique, you know, and Samur would have been a fierce defender in his own right."

He nodded, though the mention of Samur made him frown. He squeezed VEGA's hand, then let it go. "I'm ready."

“Very well,” VEGA indicated a component he could assemble, and once the Slayer was focused, he began sharing his thoughts about the situation on Earth and what could be done about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I chopped a bunch of words off the end of this chapter and put them into a new one because I liked this ending better, so next week's update will be on the shorter side. But, also, it will have a lot of plot in it.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again. I have some unhappy news. Unfortunately, because of my school and work schedule, it's unlikely that I'll have time to work on this fic for about a month. I will continue writing it in my spare time, but my spare time has decreased drastically lately, so it's unlikely that I'll have anything worth publishing for a while.
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Feel free to leave kudos or a comment. I know this chapter isn't the juiciest and I promise to get back to you with something tastier ASAP.

Humans on Earth were far from extinct. As soon as the Fortress’s communications array had been appropriately updated with their archaic communication methods, VEGA’s receivers lit up with hundreds of broadcasts. Most of them were scripted emergency broadcasts: old towers still calling for assistance or broadcasting warnings, but there were live broadcasts as well. There were also personal broadcasts, especially from those humans trapped within the hellified zones and in bunkers on the outskirts.

The first thing he did was search for Samur and the Sidious twins. Megan and Desmond were not mentioned in any of the broadcasts he could hear from this distance. That did not bode well for them, though it was possible they were still alive and well, just out of the public eye. There was chatter with Dr. Hayden’s name attached, mostly from an organization called the ARC. The UAC was notably absent from the airwaves, but given the way the ARC talked about Hayden and the name of the organization, it was safe to assume that the two organizations were at least related or possibly one and the same. 

VEGA was surprised that while there were distress calls and broadcasts of demonic activities, many of the radio broadcasts were of a more mundane nature, and there were still several music stations on the air. Humanity, even at their lowest point, was shockingly resilient. Or perhaps they were collectively in denial.

Then again, since most of humanity had decided that the invasion was an act of a higher power (they were right in a way), it was hard to say they were ignoring the seriousness of the situation. The words “apocalypse” and “the Mark of the Beast” were being thrown around, as well as other elements of the Christian Bible. VEGA had read it, of course, along with the religious texts of every other earthly religion given to him on Mars. Human religion fascinated him: no matter how they started, they always seemed to end up worshipping themselves in one way or another. 

The human that they’d chosen to elevate to godhood this millennia was the Doom Slayer: the footage and witness reports that had survived from Mars had made an impact. 

“Fuck that,” The Slayer signed when he heard the broadcasts. “I’m not doing that shit again.”

"I think It's a good thing," VEGA said. "It seems to give them hope, and the scope is limited. You're no prophet."

He growled, but VEGA could tell he wasn’t actually upset. He couldn’t help but enjoy being admired at least a little, especially when it was so tinted with respect and fear.

"It’s going to happen whether you like it or not, but I think you’ll be able to stay mostly out of the spotlight anyway."

"I hope so. I can't give speeches."

"I'm sure there's someone down there who would be very happy to be a mouthpiece if it comes to that, but I doubt it will."

"I'd want you to do it,"

VEGA couldn't help but be flattered, "I'd be honored, but let's hope neither of us needs to." 

The Slayer popped one of his snacks into his mouth. They had been able to coax one of the root vegetables into something approximating french fries, and he was very fond of them. VEGA, once he's actually learned the basics of how to cook, could get them perfectly crispy every time. It was the only thing the Slayer regularly asked him to make since he preferred to make his own meals. 

"You sound happy," he signed, still with salt on his fingers.

"Hearing friendlier voices after so long has put me in a good mood," VEGA said. "New data is always welcome too, and I'm learning a lot from the ARC Broadcasts."

The Slayer had a sparkle I'm his eye. "Any data?"

VEGA didn't know what he was getting at, "Yes. I have preferences, but anything is welcome."

"Got it."

VEGA didn’t know what that was about, and he was too excited about all of the information pouring into the fortress to puzzle over it right then.

* * *

From Earth’s perspective, the year and a half they had spent in Hell had been nearly eleven. That wasn’t totally a surprise, but it was still concerning, especially since VEGA could tell that the invasion had started not long after they had departed. He synchronized a clock to Universal Standard Time, though he kept the relative one running as well, since he wanted to keep track of milestones and how long he had been with the Slayer.

They were going to need to move the fortress and be able to open portals to make any kind of progress. VEGA thought that preparation was going to delay them for months more, possibly over a year, since recharging the fortress from the demon prison took longer than from Hell directly. When he scanned the dimensional fabric around them, however, he discovered it would be very easy to open portals because the spacetime around Earth, around the whole solar system, in fact, was notably thin and already prone to natural rifts. It was all very improbable but, in light of human history, it made a lot of sense. On an unstable dimensional foundation, influences from other planes of reality bled through. It would take a bit over two weeks to move the fortress, and portals could be opened with only a day of preparation.

As a bonus, there was a background of interdimensional activity that would, hopefully, help to camouflage any disturbances caused by the Fortress of Doom.

“Here are my thoughts,” VEGA said, “I’ll leave the final decision up to you since you’ll be the one actually putting yourself in danger.”

The Slayer nodded, still flicking through different maps on the monitor.

“I propose we remain at a distance from both Earth and Mars and move the fortress closer only when we’re ready to launch an assault directly on the Deag. It’s best to maintain the element of surprise, and I don’t think we’ll be able to win a war of attrition before Earth is entirely consumed.”

He had looked ready to argue until the last point. The Slayer thought for a moment and then signed, “I hate it, but that makes sense. I want to do something useful.”

“I can attempt to put you on fronts where demonic activity is low so you can draw attention, but I worry that your presence on the battlefield will cause the invasion to speed up or become more aggressive. Does that seem likely based on your past experiences?”

The Slayer nodded. He folded his hands together and leaned his chin on them. He stared hard at the map on the monitor, lit up with a half-dozen markers before sitting up and clicking his fingers. “Send me to another planet,” he said, “I fight there, divert forces.”

VEGA considered all the possibilities. “That might work,” he said at last, “we’ll have to be careful about when and where. Should we experiment and see if it draws Hell’s attention away from Earth at all?”

He signed an affirmative.

“Very well,” VEGA said, “I want to move the fortress a little closer to Earth so I can establish better monitoring of the planet and human population. We’ll stay far enough that we won’t be clearly visible, and I’ll be able to hide us from any satellites. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes,” the Slayer said, “will we be close enough to see Earth?”

“Maybe,” VEGA said, “we could fabricate a telescope for you to use along with the drones if you like.”

“Next week,” The Slayer signed, “we can go stargazing.”

“That sounds lovely,” VEGA didn’t actually need the telescope, of course, but he knew a lot about astronomy. The Doom Slayer had expressed interest in passing before, so it was sure to be a pleasant way to spend a few hours. There would be many more stars visible from the Fortress than from a planet, but VEGA almost wanted the romance of looking through an atmosphere for the date: there would be no recognizable constellations from this orbit. Then again, half the fun of constellations was in drawing new ones and making up stories for them, and he already knew how imaginative the Slayer could be. He was looking forward to that.

* * *

It was not an idle eighteen days before they moved closer to Earth, but most of the work fell to VEGA, so the Doom Slayer was free to have one of his infrequent breaks. He spent most of the time training because his limitless energy would drive him crazy if he didn’t expend at least some of it. The other portion, he split between gaming and helping with VEGA’s information gathering. VEGA could have listened to every broadcast and cataloged the data without his help, but leaving a little for the Slayer to handle kept him busy, and it was always enjoyable to spend time with him. The Doom Slayer often had thoughts about the broadcasts that didn’t occur to VEGA anyway.

The information being passed around the Earth soon coalesced into an understanding of the situation and what they needed to do. Three Deag Priests were directing the invasion, each one with a different style and location. The ARC had tried to kill them before, even succeeding in infiltrating a fortress once, but the priests had survived. Apparently, their souls were guarded against death.

VEGA knew what that meant and how it was done. So did the Slayer, theoretically, but he'd never seen it done.

"It's like making a Horcrux but instead of killing someone to split your soul, you just move the whole thing," he typed.

"Horcrux? You’ve never mentioned this before," VEGA wondered if there was some cultural belief that had died off in the last hundred years. They'd talked a bit about the Slayer's life before he joined the Marines, but it had been far from exhaustive.

It took nearly half an hour for the Slayer to explain what he meant, typing because some of the fantastical words were too long to sign efficiently. It wasn’t the first time he’d given VEGA a history lesson, but it was the strangest.

“I’ve never heard of any of this, even from children on Mars,” VEGA said, “It had been over a hundred years, but it’s odd that such a large cultural phenomenon left no mark whatsoever.”

The Doom Slayer seemed genuinely upset in a different way than VEGA had seen before. This wasn’t a direct personal loss exactly, but it was the first time he really understood how much Earth's culture had changed while he had been away. Rejoining society Earth was going to be like moving to another planet. “We were invaded,” he typed, “and there were other problems. I just hope some copies survived.”

“I’d hazard some did,” VEGA said, “the chances of finding one aren’t high at all, however.”

“I’ve read them,” The Slayer signed, “more than once, and seen every movie. I’ll live.”

“That's good to hear,” VEGA said. “I have to say I’m always surprised when humans create fictions that help them understand reality. Especially when they have no idea that reality exists at all.”

The Slayer shrugged, “we do that.”

They did. It was one of the things about them that scared VEGA. He sometimes wondered what the Slayer’s intuition told him, especially when he was having flashbacks, and he looked at the shell like he thought VEGA was going to hurt him or restrained his own hands like he was afraid of lashing out. VEGA could never shake the feeling that the Slayer could see into the future a little himself.

"Regardless," VEGA said, "We still need to locate the seals. It won't be easy."

The Slayer nodded and pulled up maps of Earth and Sentinel Prime. He highlighted several points of interest and VEGA added more, along with maps of a few other Agenta-conquered worlds that might make a good hiding place.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Content warning: Character Death
> 
> I ended up breaking this chapter into two parts, so you can expect an update next week as well.

“It’s working,” VEGA said through the Praetor Suit.

The Doom Slayer nodded and shoved a grenade down a demon’s throat. He was in a precarious position, fighting on steep cliffs below a Daeg temple. It was long abandoned, but scans of the surroundings showed there had been activity recently, so it was worth investigating.

From the fortress’s new, closer position to Earth, VEGA could measure that demonic activity was dropping on inactive fronts and behind the main lines already. It wasn’t much, but it was noticeable. Hell’s armies were vast, but they weren’t infinite (nothing was truly infinite), and the realm had a lot of territories it needed to guard. Their numbers had to be stretched fairly thin with a full-scale invasion underway.

VEGA waited until the Slayer found a safe place before he spoke up again. “I’m reading a .3% decrease in demonic activity and rising. As soon as the drop crosses 10%, I’m going to deploy the first wave of drones to Earth. Do you think you’ll need to access the fortress soon?”

“No,” he signed.

"Excellent. I'll let you get back to work."

The Doom Slayer chuckled at that, almost cackled, and cracked his knuckles. He seemed overjoyed to be making a noticeable difference in Earth’s invasion. He seemed overjoyed just to be fighting again, as he leapt over a wall taller than he was and slid down a snow-covered slope on the other side, right into a waiting swarm.

It took 20 hours for the demonic presence to drop by 10%: a level where VEGA would have a chance to position drones on Earth that wouldn’t be immediately shot down or swallowed by cacodemons. Just in case, every drone he was sending down had a self-destruct mechanism that would keep his designs from being recognized should they fall into the wrong hands. 

He opened a series of portals, deploying a few drones through each, and set them to scanning and information gathering. 

He quickly located ARC communications towers and sent a drone to tap into one of them. Instantly his network expanded, and VEGA plunged into the new inputs on instinct. His consciousness spilled over the ARC systems. Firewalls and passwords protected more sensitive information, and although VEGA wanted to hack into them and take whatever data was there for himself, he restrained himself. He could not risk being noticed.

There was still plenty of information available to him, and It was exactly the kind of information that they needed: where there was the most demonic activity, locations of active portals to Hell, and Daeg sightings. He processed as much as he could using the Fortress’s available RAM and archived what he didn’t have the space to process just then. The broadcasts also included public news broadcasts, casualty reports, and internal encrypted communications that posed no challenge to VEGA at all. For now, he archived what he could of that material.

VEGA wanted to run a search for Megan and Desmond, but he didn’t know what he would do if they were dead. He didn’t want the Slayer to be away from the fortress on the battlefield in case he experienced an overload as a result.

Instead, he looked up Dr. Hayden because he was certain that Samur would be alive, and for the next several hours, VEGA read and listened to all of his speeches and addresses to the UAC, ARC, and various governmental bodies with most of his focus while he processed the other broadcasts and archives with the rest. Samur had come a long way from the reclusive, science-minded seraphim he had once been, and his control of human politics was truly masterful. VEGA was oddly proud of him: for a Maykr to so skillfully navigate a complex social system like humans' must have taken incredible work and dedication.

Samur throwing his robotic body onto the battlefield, however, had been a profoundly poor decision even with the crucible. VEGA was just happy that there were reports he had been retrieved and was safe. He took a moment and centered himself, processing the emotions of fear and despair and loss before they could overwhelm him, and added “locate and retrieve Dr. Hayden” to his to-do list.

VEGA knew that retrieving Samur might be necessary to save Earth, but he was surprised that he actually wanted Hayden with them. VEGA hadn’t spent too much time dissecting his relationship with Samur. That was mostly because it was one of the areas where his memory grew hazy and unclear, and VEGA still felt anxiety about being near him because of his treatment and dissections on Mars. But the Doom Slayer had been at least partially correct to categorize their relationship as familial, and it did not sit right with VEGA to leave Samur behind or subject him to unnecessary hardship. He could not be sure--he did not know how Samur felt about being around him--but VEGA was fairly confident that the Seraphim would be more comfortable in the fortress than in stasis in his robotic body.

He decided to wait to process any more data from the ARC until the Doom Slayer returned to the Fortress; VEGA felt like he was going to need to process a lot of emotional responses if he looked any further, and he needed the Slayer to be safe while he did that. Instead of reading more, he set an alert up so that if any reports with the names “Hayden” or “Sidious” were broadcast, he would know. 

VEGA split his attention between monitoring the Slayer and piloting his fleet of drones and satellites. Over the next forty hours, he put together a detailed map of the earth’s surface, marking surviving human settlements and areas of intense demonic activity, the areas with the most hell-growth, and the bases of two Deag priests. He could not detect any Maykrs on Earth at all, not even Samur, so VEGA could only assume they were truly treating the Priests as battlefield commanders rather than risk their own people. It surprised him a little that the Deag were on the front lines of the invasion, but the Argenta had never been a race that sat back and allowed others to lead armies for them. 

VEGA found many of the Argenta sensibilities brutish and brutal, but he did agree that a king who sent his people to war should fight alongside them; he didn’t like that the Maykrs were hiding behind the Deag and the Demons. It indicated cowardice and lack of ability, and that was the opposite of the Maykrs he remembered.

* * *

The Doom Slayer searched every inch of the snow-covered temple. He ran his hands over the walls in every room, as was his habit, until, for once, he found what he was looking for, and a wall panel slid aside. There was a little room behind the wall. It was full of boxes, barrels, and a small, cold cot.

The Slayer, shivering by that point, searched it carefully. He found a few pieces of paper shoved beneath a leg of the cot, and held them up for VEGA to scan.

"Could you set the paper down on a barrel?" VEGA asked, "you're shivering too hard for me to capture a clear image like this."

He spread the papers out over the cot before signing, "I'm fucking freezing."

"Do you want to come back and warm up?" Of course, the Praetor Suit helped regulate his temperature, but there were limits to what it could do, and the metal lost heat quickly. Maybe VEGA would be able to talk him into wearing something more substantial between his body and the suit in extreme climates.

“Not yet. Almost done.”

“Very well. Please don’t push yourself too much. You’ve been on your feet for close to 72 hours.”

The Doom Slayer nodded and stowed the pages in the Praetor Suit Storage so they would have the physical copies of the data.

VEGA had just enough warning to get the shell to the portal apparatus with medical supplies and warm water before the Slayer returned. He shook snow out of the seams on his boots and shucked off the metal armor. He was shivering and his fingers were red, but the cold had actually helped reduce the swelling of his new bruises. The demons hadn't managed to penetrate the armor this time, so that was the extent of his injuries.

In his endeavor to make the shell as inoffensive to touch as possible, VEGA had devised a system to make the shell’s outer plating warm to the touch, and it had served him well when it came to making the Slayer comfortable. It didn't generate enough heat to warm him up on its own, however, so when the Slayer held out his hands he wrapped a warm towel around them and rubbed them through it to generate more heat.

“Did you find anything else interesting?” VEGA asked when the Slayer’s fingers were warm enough to sign.

The Slayer nodded. He stopped rubbing a splatter of blood off himself and reached down to activate the Praetor suit’s storage, retrieved the fragile papers and three bound volumes of text. VEGA took them, the shell flickering green with curiosity. He turned a few pages carefully, translating what he could of the language. He didn't know much yet, but he would learn quickly with this much data to work with.

The Doom Slayer tugged the Shell's arm and bumped his head against it. "Like them?" He signed.

VEGA glowed as he realized the books were intended as gifts. The last time someone had given him a present was at least five years ago on Mars when he maintained an archive of data sent to him by humanity and added to it regularly. "Yes," he said, "very much."

The Slayer smiled and went back to wiping the worst of the dirt off himself.

VEGA set the books down carefully on a table to read later. "I sent the drones to Earth," he said, "it's been a very productive few days, and I have a lot to share…"

The Slayer was yawning, nodding through it. He looked at VEGA expectantly, but without adrenaline, he was crashing fast and wouldn’t retain information while this fatigued.

"I'll tell you about it after you've slept," VEGA said, “the important bits. Do you want something to eat before resting?”

He frowned at that but nodded. 

VEGA mopped up the puddles on the bridge while the Slayer ate a small meal and took a shower. He tried to do a few stretches to help relieve the soreness of his muscles, but by that time, he was running on fumes and practically collapsed into bed.

The Slayer was almost asleep by the time the shell arrived at the sleeping nook. VEGA had printed another blanket, this one thin but warm, and he was working on a set of clothes to go under the Praetor Suit that would help regulate the Slayer’s temperature because the books had put him in a gifting mood. The Slayer might not wear them, but he would know that VEGA cared and was thinking of him, and that was the important part.

“I brought you another blanket,” VEGA said when the Slayer cracked an eye open to look at the shell.

The Slayer nodded and helped him spread the blanket on top of the two already on the bed, then patted the mattress beside him. The shell crawled into the sleeping nook and VEGA settled it into the crook of the Slayer’s arm.

VEGA’s network was much larger than it had been the last time the shell was in the sleeping nook; he expected the contact to feel more distant. Instead, the influx of data and information made the intimacy seem more immediate, more special. It did help that it had been more than a week since the shell had "slept" in the Slayer’s bed, so the sensations were somewhat novel again.

VEGA snuggled down into the bedding and let out a contented hum.

The Slayer kissed the top of his head and signed the letter T even though he could barely keep his eyes open.

“Do you want to hear about the broadcasts I’ve picked up so far?” VEGA asked. He nodded in response, so VEGA picked a mildly interesting story and started telling it. The Doom Slayer lasted less than five minutes before he was snoring gently, and if he stuck to previous patterns, he’d be asleep for at least twelve hours.

VEGA turned his attention back to the broadcasts, listening actively for anything of interest, devoting a significant percentage of his processing power to those functions. His thoughts wandered back to Megan and Desmond, and after a moment of hesitation, VEGA looked them up.

The first scans of the broadcasts turned up nothing, so he searched (carefully) the ARC databases he’d gained access to. That got results, but not good ones. 

The Doctors Sidious, along with the entire ARC lab they’d been employed in, had been slaughtered more than three years ago. The only survivors had been a few junior staff who were off-site at the time and a young researcher who managed to hide in the ventilation systems and crawl out of the complex to meet with the rescue team. 

VEGA’s immediate thought was that it could be a mistake, but he pulled up the reports from the site themselves and discovered, without warning, that the bodies had been photographed. He recoiled from the images, almost deleted them from his memory, but he couldn’t. He could not be irrationally in denial, and if he did not remember that was very possible.

Their deaths were already more than VEGA was prepared for, but that was only the beginning. Even though they had told VEGA they would not create any copies of him, the Sidious twin’s lab had been working on Artificial intelligence with the explicit goal of recreating VEGA. It was in their mission statement. Hopefully, they hadn’t succeeded in creating any other sentient intelligences, but it was possible. If they had, VEGA did not know what would happen or what might have already happened. It was a sort of betrayal that he wouldn’t be able to really explain using language, and it hurt and scared him almost as much as their deaths did.

He had been right to wait until the Slayer was safe: VEGA would not have been able to coordinate the teleporter like this. He couldn't even use the vocal synthesizer while he was in this much distress. The grief and pain and betrayal shot through his emotional systems, consuming all his available processing power. 

He shifted the shell with his remaining control, burrowing it entirely under the blankets where it was warm and dark and quiet but for the Doom Slayer’s breathing. He let the overload crash over him, trying to process the emotional responses. He didn’t put any effort into controlling the mood lights, and the inside of the sleeping nook was consumed by dark spasms across the color spectrum as VEGA went from grief to self-pity to grief again, flashing from memory to memory with brutal emotional jerks. There was anger in it: at the demons, at Hell, at himself, and a tiny bit at Megan and Desmond themselves.

It wasn’t the first thing he’d grieved for the dead, not nearly, but it never got easier, and learning about the deaths of the people who had more or less raised VEGA on Mars was a special kind of pain. It pushed at the limits of what he could experience without tearing his own emotional processes apart. As it was, he had to force himself not to cut them off with every tick. It would not stop him hurting, not when he still had his natural emotions: there was no way to shut them off.

The worst of the grief cleared after a few hours. It would be back; VEGA knew that, but one of the perks of being an AI was that it took him far less time to process grief than physical beings. What humans took years to come to terms with, VEGA could manage in a matter of days or weeks.

VEGA double-checked that all his safety measures were still in place and functional and set several alarms so he would know if things went awry. He made the shell comfortable in the crook of the Slayer's arm before he let his consciousness disperse and gave up his ability to consciously think. It wasn't calming. It wasn't anything. That was the point. He'd pull himself back together when the Doom Slayer woke up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy moly this was hard to write.
> 
> Kudos and comments are much appreciated


	21. Chapter 21

The Slayer slept eight hours before waking and clambering out of bed over the shell. VEGA pulled his consciousness back together, shifted the shell to the inside of the nook, and tucked its cameras back underneath the blankets. The Slayer made his way to the bathroom, stretching his sore muscles. VEGA thought he would get dressed and start his day, but he returned to the sleeping nook after a few minutes and got back into bed. He’d never done that before. Normally VEGA would have been concerned, but his emotional processes were still too tied up with grief for it to register as more than a blip.

The Slayer wrapped his arms around the shell and squeezed it close with one of those wonderful contented sighs. VEGA raised its hands sluggishly and wrapped them over his arms. His emotions were ramping up past the point where he could speak if he wanted to. Again.

This time, the Slayer was awake to see the mood lights go dark and feel its hands freeze in place. He started to let go, but VEGA couldn’t stand the thought of being without touch just then and tightened his grip.

“VEGA?” he asked in a whisper because he couldn’t sign with the shell holding his arms down. When there was no response, he pushed himself a little further. “You okay?”

VEGA shook the shell’s head side-to-side. He forced himself to let the Slayer go and pointed to the tablet, sitting on the sleeping nook’s bookshelf. The Slayer retrieved it and powered on the screen. He laid back down and wrapped one arm around the shell, pressing it against his side.

“Apologies,” VEGA typed, “my emotions are too volatile for the vocal synthesizer right now. I’m not in any danger, just upset.”

“What about?” The Slayer typed one-handed.

“I looked Megan and Desmond up,” VEGA said, “in the public ARC databases--” It took a moment to force himself to type it, “--they’re dead.”

The Slayer took a deep breath and paused for a long moment before he typed, “I’m sorry.”

VEGA would have laughed if he could, “You are the last person who should be apologizing.”

He gave the shell a one-armed squeeze that made VEGA’s emotions run even more out of control. “Do you want to talk about it or have quiet?”

“Quiet for now. I’m sure I’ll talk your ears off later. Will you stay with the shell until I calm down? It will only take a few minutes.”

In response he rolled onto his side and wrapped both arms around the shell again, squeezing tight enough to put pressure on its internal components. It was exactly what VEGA needed right then, and he focused on the embrace as much as he could while still maintaining his necessary processes. It felt horribly good to break down when someone was there to comfort him. 

The mood lights and his silence were the only outward signs anything was wrong, but his processes were a disaster by the time his emotions calmed. VEGA set them right before addressing the Slayer.

“I’m feeling better,” he said, “thank you.”

The response was a sleepy grunt and a nuzzle. The Slayer sat up and stretched.

“Do you mind if I leave the shell where it is for now?” VEGA asked through the fortress speakers. “The physical sensations are comforting, and coordinating its movement is difficult right now.”

He shook his head and left it at that, giving the shell a gentle pat before getting up.

* * *

VEGA shared what he had learned in the last week over the next few hours; there was enough information to give to the Slayer that it would have taken that long anyway, but VEGA being careful of his emotional processes did not speed things up. He shared the locations of remaining human settlements, including 3 small cities that were more-or-less demon-free, and the locations of ARC bases that were hidden enough to have been bypassed as well.

The Slayer grinned when he heard how hard humanity was fighting despite their impossible situation. "I hope we're the most obnoxious species they've ever tried to enslave."

“You must be near the top of the list,” He agreed.

Then VEGA lapsed into silence, listening to broadcasts and trying not to think too hard because he still felt fragile and wasn’t keen on having a third emotional-overload in less than 24 hours. He sent the Slayer the information he thought would be of interest but didn’t offer assistance in planning his next excursion onto another world. The Doom Slayer had constructed battle plans before. He did not need VEGA’s help.

The Slayer returned to the Sleeping nook eventually. He paused before opening it and signed to a camera. “Can I move the shell?”

“Yes,” VEGA shifted it to a sitting position. Coordinating its movement took much longer than usual, so it was only just upright in time for the Slayer to offer his hand to it. His brows knit in concern when he pulled on the shell’s hand and found it almost unresponsive.

“I told you it’s difficult to move right now,” VEGA shifted the shell to the edge of the nook carefully.

The Slayer drew it to its feet and held it in place for a moment until the machine found its balance. He gestured it over to his reading chair, and VEGA walked it there while the Slayer set about stripping the mattress. 

The Slayer’s reading chair was huge, straight-backed, and uncomfortable. The only reason he liked it was because it was large enough for him to lay across the seat and kick his legs over the armrest while he read. VEGA worried about his back when he did that but hadn’t brought it up because he never seemed sore after. The shell sat in it, and the cold material instantly chilled its outer plating.

The Slayer finished taking the sheets off the bed and brought the weighted blanket over to the chair. He wrapped it around the shell, lifting it so that the blanket could be placed under its plastic thighs. 

VEGA signed, “thank you,” when he was done. The Slayer nodded in acknowledgment and grabbed one of the three books he’d picked up from the alien planet from the desk. He put it in the shell’s hands matter-of-factly and gathered up the bedding to wash it so VEGA couldn’t even ask what he meant by it.

After a few minutes, the weight of the book in the shell’s hands grew distracting. VEGA almost set it aside but ended up opening it to the first page and examining the writing there. The book was handwritten, and the writer obviously had some formal schooling in penmanship. Maybe it was even their job. He translated the language slowly, learning the structure and discrete symbols haphazardly over the next few minutes, and then began reading the volume.

It was a journal of the religious figure, and it detailed the writer’s life at the temple and their practices. It wasn’t particularly valuable information, but it was interesting to read about and it distracted him from his own recursive emotional processes.

* * *

The Doom Slayer brought his dinner into the room later and pulled another chair over near the shell to eat.

“Did you learn anything interesting studying maps?” VEGA asked after a pause.

He nodded and signed, "I have ideas on where to go. There are places the Deag have already been where we can look. I want your advice before I choose."

“I’ll look with you later. We should start searching for the seals in earnest.”

The Slayer grunted an agreement and set aside his food to sign, “How do you feel?”

“Better than before, but still not well. It’s going to be a week or two before I’m myself again, I think.”

“That’s fast for losing your parental figures.”

“That's when I'll start being able to function again, not when I'll stop feeling sad, Slayer," VEGA said it patiently, but there was a slight bite to his words, and the Slayer picked up on it. 

"I didn't mean it like that."

“I know. I shouldn’t have snapped.” VEGA put an effort into completing the emotional processes that were still somewhat under his control. He felt like he could talk now. He wanted to talk now, though he knew it would be painful in its own way. The only thing stopping him was the vague thought it might cause the Slayer distress as well.

He had picked his food back up and started eating, still mostly watching the shell. "What's the book about?" He asked one-handed

"It's a journal," VEGA said, and briefly went over the contents as best he could while not knowing how the language was actually spoken. The Slayer listened, displaying his ability to remain attentive despite not being interested at all in the information. By the time he was finished eating, VEGA had run out of things to chat about.

It was incredibly awkward, and he could tell the Slayer was growing concerned about his silence. Usually, VEGA was the one asking him questions and fretting about the Slayer’s health.

“VEG--” he started, but didn’t even get to finish signing the word.

“I miss them,” VEGA blurted, “I have a whole list of things I wanted to tell them and now I can’t.”

The Doom Slayer sat back a little. “Like what?”

VEGA pulled the list into the forefront. It was well over 50 items long. “I need to thank Desmond for designing my vocal synthesizer so well again and tell Megan that I finished reading her library and made an index for us both to use. I planned to show them the Dyson sphere design, I have some neural networks Desmond would love, and I know he'd be jealous if he knew I had a whole garden. I need to ask Megan if she has any insight into how I can deal with overwhelming guilt. I have blueprints for sixtieth birthday presents I designed for them both. I wanted to tell them about you… that's on here a couple of times because I wanted you to actually meet them. I was looking forward to showing them the shell too. Megan would have loved the design, and Des would have wanted to see the plans and talk about every bolt and screw…" VEGA trailed off again as his vocal synthesizer glitched a little.

The Slayer’s gaze had taken on a fragile, painful quality. The way his eyes had hardened and his mouth tightened told VEGA he’d been affected more than anticipated.

“Apologies, Slayer. You’ve lost many more people than I have. I don’t want to reopen those wounds for you abruptly.”

The Slayer blinked hard and shook his head. “They’re your parents,” he signed, “not mine. It's not about me.”

VEGA didn't know how to respond to that. He directed his attention to the book in the shell's hands, turned a page. Further on in this volume or in the next he would probably find an account of the demonic invasion of the frozen world.

The Slayer stood and retrieved the tablet from the sleeping nook so he could type. “Do you want to be alone for a while?”

“No,” VEGA said quickly. “No. You make this easier.”

“Then talk. Whatever you’re going to say, I’ve thought, heard, and felt worse.”

“I take your point,” VEGA said. “I’m-I’m angry, and it’s making it difficult to grieve.”

"Feeling angry is normal," the Slayer typed.

"Not like this," VEGA said. "They broke the promise they made me when they left Mars. Do you remember what I asked them to do?"

He thought for a moment, retrieving the memory. "Not to try and recreate you from a backup?"

"That’s correct, but they did anyway. Recreating me was what the last ten years of their lives were devoted to from what I can tell." 

The Doom Slayer wasn't getting the seriousness of this: VEGA could tell by the way his brow was furrowed. He was probably trying to wrap his mind around the idea of multiple VEGAs existing at once.

"Even if they restored me from a backup, it wouldn't be me," VEGA explained. "It would be a different being, one without my sense of morality and experience to draw on. Such a consciousness would be very dangerous. It might be actively hostile or simply actively curious. Either would be very bad for humanity. I made them promise not to create anything like me so that wouldn't happen." He felt himself starting to heat up, "But they did anyway. I don't know if they succeeded, but if they did, that might have been the cause of the invasion. Honestly, if they did succeed and the intelligence was destroyed in the invasion, that might be the most favorable outcome. Megan and Desmond knew all of this, but they went ahead with their research anyway. If they were still alive, I’d be sending a drone right now, so I could tell them how disappointed I am.”

The Slayer chewed on his lip for a moment and then typed, “You think the UAC pressured them into AI research?”

VEGA considered it, “Unlikely, but not out of the question. I’ll have to look into it. Dr. Hayden will know.” The Slayer made a face, so VEGA answered the unspoken question, “Samur isn’t well either, but he’s alive and safe and will stay that way. I’m sure we’ll need his help eventually.”

He grimaced like he always did when Samur was brought up. VEGA would relay the exact details of that situation later.

“I'd rather focus on good memories right now,” VEGA said, “but I can’t because I’m angry at them, and now I’m worried about what they might have created and what repercussions might follow.”

"Whatever it is, you won't be dealing with it alone."

That was a point VEGA hadn’t really considered, mostly because the Slayer likely wouldn’t even be aware of it if VEGA was attacked by another AI and would be unable to help fight it. On an emotional level, though, he was right. VEGA could lean on the Slayer--had before when he was too emotional to control himself: he didn’t need to be alone in grief.

It took VEGA a whole second to really process the idea, and then the surge of relief rendered his vocal synthesizer unusable for at least half a minute. He set aside the book so he could sign with the shell’s hands, “You’re right. Thank you.”

The Slayer waved him off because VEGA relying on him was no big deal from his perspective. “Will you tell me about them? Good memories, like you said?”

“My synthesizer is down again,” VEGA signed, “but I can show you, if that’s okay.”  
The Slayer looked confused, but he nodded and gestured for VEGA to go ahead.

VEGA took his time selecting a memory. He didn’t have the storage space to keep every second of his recollections intact, so mostly he had his own recollections in the form of brief blips of information: sensory detail, relevant data points, maybe a frame or two of video, or a few seconds of audio. He had designed his own files and data structures so he could remember as much as possible too, mimicking the concise way that biology allowed memory storage. Still, the most important memories, the ones he liked best, and those he deemed extremely valuable, were kept in full.

He chose a fun memory, one that he kept because he enjoyed it rather than one that was of technical or historical importance. He selected one camera angle so the Slayer would be able to follow along without being confused and started the playback on the tablet.

Laughter emanated from the tablet speakers, eight voices giggling near hysterically, and the video showed the inside of the Sidious twins’ UAC standard apartment, where they and a small group of their friends were seated around a table with a deck of cards and brightly colored cardboard boxes, littered with drink glasses and bowls of snacks smuggled in from Earthside. Each of them was holding a personal smart-device

“Oh my gods, VEGA,” Desmond said.

VEGA’s own voice came from the speaker, a younger VEGA with a little less care in his words and a slightly faster speaking pace. “It’s a perfectly valid response, I don’t understand what the problem is.” That made everyone laugh harder.

“You have to defend yourself,” One of the other attendees said at last. Their name was Cam if VEGA recalled correctly (UAC Employee identifications were something he'd stopped actively maintaining soon after arriving at the fortress). "Don't just list off game stats!"

"That’s the information you can be certain of. I don’t see why I’m any more likely to be bad than anyone else.”

Megan, who had her device set down on the table screen-side-down, zipped her lips with an invisible zipper.

Desmond gestured towards her, "Megan's last words were, 'If I die night one, VEGA is a werewolf.'"

"If anything that is a compelling reason to believe I’m not. Why would I frame myself?”

They all made exaggerated “hmms of consideration. VEGA sped through the next several minutes of footage, until the electronic game’s voice declared, “ Werewolves Win!”

Cam leaped to their feed in excitement, “Let’s go, VEGA! That was awesome!”

At the same moment, Megan thumped her head down on the table and said, “I literally said it. I told you exactly what was going to happen.”

“I think I prefer games of chance,” VEGA admitted, "that was very stressful."

"You did great!" Cam said, "especially for your first game."

"Thank you." 

The solid video recording ended there, but he let the disorganized recollection play for a moment. More laughter, the sounds of drink glasses, VEGA offering to get more snacks with a drone.

Then it was just the twins and VEGA cleaning up, and Megan's voice was coming through as clear as could be. "It's not a complicated game, no, but it’s been around a long time. It teaches young adults how to navigate social situations like how hide-and-seek and tag teach survival skills to younger kids. I first played a variation in college.”

"Which is why you wanted me to play it," The younger VEGA didn't sound upset, just curious. The video swam back in: frames spaced a second or more apart while the Sidiouses cleaned up their living room.

"I also wanted to have the chance to try and beat you. Unlike chess, you can't calculate every possible reaction someone will have to a lie."

"For now. Next time, I'll know what I'm doing much better."

In VEGA's network, the memory was connected to hundreds more. He'd played games with the twins and other humans many times. He'd listened to professionals and academics talk about play as a phenomenon, and read numerous research papers on the subject. He could have followed the thread of memory a long way.

He stopped because the Doom Slayer was staring at the tablet in his hands, expression unreadable.

VEGA waited, not up to prodding him for a reaction but also not about to start another recollection if the Slayer had found the first distressing.

After a moment, he looked up at the shell, blinking hard, and turned to the nearest camera. "Are you there?"

"I'm here," VEGA said. "Are you alright? You didn't respond for a moment."

"I'm okay," he signed. "I feel homesick."

"I do too," VEGA agreed. "I think that's the best way to describe it. Grief isn’t really accurate. Not yet."

The Slayer nodded. "Want to show me more?"

"Only if you actually want to see it. There are other, more productive tasks for you to focus on."

He switched to typing, "We can work on the battle plans together later. When you're ready. I need a couple days to let my bruises heal before I go out again."

It was the first time the Slayer had actually wanted to wait before throwing himself into combat again. Maybe he had found the temple and the cold more unpleasant than he let on, maybe waking up to VEGA in distress had made him afraid to leave again, or maybe he cared about VEGA enough to wait. VEGA honestly wasn't sure, and he didn't care right then.

The shell reached out a hand to the Slayer slowly, “Would you come here for a moment?”

He walked over and let it take his hand. VEGA pressed the sensor on its left arm to the Slayer’s wrist and held it there. His consciousness filled with the Slayer's heartbeat. It was fainter than when he was wearing the Praetor Suit, but it was comforting nonetheless.

“You’re running a slight fever,” VEGA said, “but your heart rate isn’t elevated. Did you eat more than one meal today?”

He looked a little sheepish and shook his head.

The shell glowed an orange-red in annoyance, but VEGA’s voice was calm, “Aren't you hungry?”

“No. Too stressed.”

“That’s probably why you’re running hot.” VEGA squeezed his fingers gently and watched the Slayer’s face soften. “I can help you make your bed again and pick a couple of other memories if you’re okay with seeing more.”

He nodded and signed, “I’d like that.”

“It’s a plan.” VEGA unwrapped the shell from the weighted blanket slowly and stood it up while the Slayer fetched the freshly cleaned linens. Putting sheets into the sleeping nook was always a challenge, and it was easier with both of them. VEGA still couldn’t coordinate the shell very quickly, but he did his best.

They crawled into the sleeping nook. Skin contact felt too overwhelming right then, but the Slayer wanted the shell close, and the last thing VEGA wanted was isolation, so he wrapped the shell in the weighted blanket again. The Slayer guided the shell into his lap and crossed his legs underneath it. He'd held the shell like that a few times before. It made VEGA feel safe. It was hard not to feel safe when the Doom Slayer was wrapped around the shell, and feeling physically protected was rare. He transferred his core to the backup in the shell itself even though it decreased his efficiency a little. It was the closest that he could get to actually being the shell, and knowing that the Slayer was in reach and able to retrieve his consciousness should anything unexpected happen made it easier to relax.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, getting comfortable, and then the Slayer retrieved the tablet and balanced it on the shell’s legs. He pressed forward a little to see the screen, curling around the shell.

“Ready?” he typed.

The shell nodded its head, and VEGA typed back to him. “I chose a few memories that I still have intact video from. Thank you for this.”

“You’re welcome.” His fingers tapped for a moment, hesitating on putting thoughts into words. “2 things,” he typed eventually.

“What is it?”

“I’ve got you. Whatever you need, just ask.”

VEGA shifted the shell against him, freeing a hand so he could rest it on the Slayer's arm. He squeezed gently and left the response at that.

“And someday, I want to learn how you can display memories like this.”

“I’d be happy to tell you, though not in too much detail. I like to keep my exact functions to myself, or someone might use the information to delete or rewrite parts of my data. Not that you would, but I’m very afraid of it in a hypothetical sense.”

The Slayer growled and typed out a single word. “Pierce?”

VEGA shrugged the shell’s shoulders again, and the Slayer squeezed him tight, which was his way of saying, “I’m sorry that happened to you and it will never happen again.” It was astonishing how much communication the Slayer could accomplish without speaking or even signing.

The fact that VEGA was taking note and focusing on the Slayer and their communication rather than his own state of mind meant he was starting to really recover from the first wave of grief.

The Slayer's hands returned to the keyboard. "What memories did you pick?"

"I have early ones mostly. The first times I navigated social situations and the twins' advice on them, designing the Argent Accumulators with Desmond, Megan winning a fairly large award for her work, conversations I wanted to preserve. Those are more fragmented than the larger ones. Actually, if you want to know more about my memory storage, Desmond and I discussed it at length once. I still have the audio."

The Slayer shook his head. He looked homesick again. Or maybe just plain sick because he hadn't eaten nearly enough today. "You choose."

VEGA shifted the shell a little, finding the most comfortable position. He thought about it while the Slayer did the same, and ended up choosing a totally different memory than any of the three he had selected.

The tablet screen came to life. This camera angle was from a drone, so it was lower, and when the Sidious twins moved into frame, their faces were clearly visible. It wasn't an important memory, not really, but there was something about it: that strange quality that VEGA had only ever heard described as "human."

In the memory, the twins were showing VEGA how to dance because Megan needed to learn the steps, and while VEGA soaked in the information, asked questions, pointed out mistakes in her movements, and offered suggestions. Megan called him a goofball when he sent the drone spinning and rolling as a substitute for the steps in the dance, and she complimented the creativity of the solution even though VEGA still wasn't on beat. Desmond helped, or tried to, but the fundamental problem was VEGA's terrible sense of rhythm, not Megan's teaching ability.

They both ended up exhausted from their own dancing on top of what had been a long day preceded by several other long days. Megan sat down heavily on their couch and went from laughing to tearing up.

"Oh no," Desmond pointed an accusing finger at her, "no crying or you'll set me off too, and then we'll both have headaches in the shuttle tomorrow."

"I'm not crying," she swiped hard at her eyes. "I'm too happy to cry. I'm just thinking about going back to Earth for the first time in, what, eleven years?"

"Twelve in two months." Desmond dropped cross-legged onto the floor, and the drone dropped down to their sitting height. "It's going to be interesting alright. I almost wish we had time to go sightseeing, but I will hand us a full itinerary as soon as the funeral is over."

"I hope so. Then we'll have an excuse not to spend time with the rest of them."

Desmond nodded in agreement.

"I'm going to miss home though. I can already tell.” Megan said, “I'll miss you too, goofy, even though you're an absolutely awful dancer."

"Thank you," Past-VEGA said, "I did try, but it is difficult to focus on one rhythm when I'm also listening to several thousand other sounds."

In the present moment, VEGA felt the Doom Slayer huff in amusement. He was probably recalling the bass and VEGA's lack of musical abilities there as well.

"It's only two weeks," Desmond said in the video, "It will be fine."

"I know," Megan rolled her eyes at him before directing her attention to the drone. "but let me be worried. Something is going to get set on fire within a day after we leave. Just watch.”

“Are you both ready to leave in the morning?” Past-VEGA asked, interrupting their spinning.

The twins nodded.

“That’s good. You should both try to rest and relax while you’re away. I know you don’t like taking vacations, but given the UAC’s new policies, you should get whatever downtime you can.”

“That’s the plan,” Desmond said, “stay away from relatives. Hopefully, Megan gets a spa day on our cousin’s paycheck--”

Megan rolled her eyes, “Why does she want me in the wedding party? I don’t get it.” That was a refrain VEGA had grown used to hearing over the last few months. The two women were, apparently, not close at all.

“--and we get to walk around really outside for the first time in years.” Desmond finished, rolling his eyes at her. “We’ll bring something back for you. Pictures and video.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Past-VEGA assured them, “I’ll be fine while you’re away.”

The memory stopped there. Abruptly. It wasn’t that VEGA had deleted the rest of it by choice; his properly-formed memories tapered off. The rest of this one had been corrupted during a dissection long before the Mars invasion, and eventually, he’d deleted the parts that he was unable to restore the video or audio to.

The shell turned further into the Doom Slayer, as if that was any defense at all from his own emotions and memories. It did get him a tight hug. The Slayer still wasn’t crying, but he still had the brittleness about him.

He reached for the tablet to type. “Was it fine?”

“No,” VEGA said softly, “no it wasn’t, but it got better when they came back.”

He didn’t respond to that, but VEGA could tell he wanted to make another comment based on how his fingers were tapping at the keyboard, halfway between signing and typing more.

“I know they won’t be coming back now,” VEGA typed. “Of course I wish they were still alive, but there is no coming back from death. It’s possible to avoid or cheat it, but once you really die there’s no coming back.”

The Slayer nodded slowly. He seemed bothered by the answer, but unlike VEGA he couldn’t consciously fast track a stream of thought, so he’d have to wait and process his emotions at his own pace. VEGA let him be, shuffling through his selected memories and calling up the fragmented ones to look relive by himself. Each one was painful in its own way, but it was a clean pain: one that would fade with time and care. VEGA would just need to be mindful it got both.

“Anyway,” He said after a moment, “this time, no one is going to dissect, so I won’t be dealing with two traumas at once.”

The Doom Slayer made a noise somewhere between a chuckle and a growl. VEGA heard and felt him take a deep breath and let it out slow, counting to ten. “Show me something else,” he typed, “something happy this time?”

“If you’re still open to it and you promise to drink some water afterward, I will.”

“Deal.”

VEGA queued up a memory he knew the Slayer would like. He would save the more technical, research-focused recollections for when he needed to fall asleep: those memories were special to VEGA, but they would be so much background noise for the Doom Slayer. Before he started the playback he touched the Slayer’s arm again.

“Thank you,” he typed. “I love you. It’s been a few days since I said that.”

The Slayer smiled one of his tiny smiles. He took another deep breath and said, “I love you too, VEGA.”

The sound of his voice warmed VEGA right to his core. Normally he would compliment the Slayer, give him a touch in acknowledgment and encouragement. This time VEGA took the Doom Slayer’s hand and pressed it over the storage unit in the shell’s chest, putting his entire being into the palm of his hand though the Slayer had no way of knowing the significance of the gesture. VEGA would explain later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter is gonna be a lot less painful than this one. I was debating whether or not to include it in this fic at all, but after seeing the way people reacted to the last chapter, I think something more light-hearted is in order. It is going to take a couple of weeks because it's almost finals over here and I gotta pass my classes.
> 
> And then we'll be entering the Doom Eternal era.


End file.
